TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE WAR OF THE GODS
Rights
Foreword
THE SACRIFICE
PART 1
Chapter I – An Epic Dawn
Chapter II – Working The Land
Chapter III – The Village
Chapter IV – Innominatus
Chapter V – Shadows and souls
Chapter VI – Secrets and mysteries
Chapter VII – Natura naturata
Chapter VIII – Natura naturans
Chapter IX – Prodrome
Chapter X – Miasma
Chapter XI – Revelations
Chapter XII – Spells
Chapter XIII – A ghostly event
Chapter XIV – Unexpected violence
Chapter XV - The haunted house
Chapter XVI – Tears
Chapter XVII – Tragic cascade of events
PART II
Chapter XVIII- Darkness
Chapter XIX – Blossoming
Chapter XX – A Sun in the shadow
Chapter XXI – Embracing the sun
Chapter XXII- Kanumorsus
Chapter XXIII- A broken heart
Chapter XXIV- The River of Murria
Chapter XXV- Oh heart, how you suffer
Chapter XXVI- Echoes and dust
Chapter XXVII - Executioner
Chapter XXVIII- The breeze of silence
Chapter XXIX – The resurrection of the dead
Chapter XXX – The battle of the besieged
Chapter XXXI- The fallen angel
Chapter XXXII-The silent vigil
Chapter XXXIII-A necromantic spell
Epilogue
To be continued...
About the author
THE WAR OF THE GODS
THE SACRIFICE (Book 1)
By
Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla
Translated by Christy Cox and Peter Gauld
All rights reserved by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla 2017
It is absolutely forbidden to reproduce this text without the explicit permission of the author.
All the characters in this work are products of the imagination.
Foreword
This work was born more than a decade and half ago, when I was just a schoolboy, thinking about the uplands of my native land: Guatemala. There, the beautiful landscapes, with their broken volcanic geography and picturesque skies, stirred me to create a colorful work. With my love for other works of fantasy-literature, both European and American, I quickly began a story that mixed all those ingredients together, and at last emerged the first book of the saga, called The Sacrifice. The effort that I have devoted to it up to now is monumental.
So many years have passed that sometimes I find it hard to accept that I have been writing the series for nearly half of my life (I am 32 years old). Finally, and I say it in all seriousness, I have reached the end. The saga is finished in its original language: Spanish. Now, after another monumental effort, I can present you its version in English.
I have no intention of delaying your reading. I know you are anxious to turn the page and read the first chapter. I hope the work will please you. With all the sincerity I can find within me, I wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading this work. I am an independent author, and without your support none of my books will ever see the light of success. Without further ado, welcome to the series The War of The Gods.
Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla
THE SACRIFICE
Book 1
PART 1
Chapter I – An Epic Dawn
He came out of his dream with a start, his forehead pearled with perspiration, and sighed with relief as he felt himself to be in the safety of his home. Once again he had dreamt about strange lights exploding in an eternal ether, empty and solitary, where a battle of enormous profundity lasted for eternity. In those dreams he became anxious, feeling that his friends and brothers were dying at the hands of a merciless terror. The strange thing was that the boy had neither brothers nor friends.
He remained lying in bed, with his open eyes staring at nothing, thinking about the complicated life which had been dealt him. The dog whimpered at the sight of his master suffering, and to frighten away his sorrow he climbed up on to the bed, put his forepaws on the boy’s chest and began to lick his face.
“I’m coming, buddy! I’m coming! Okay…. okay… That’s enough of your licking!” cried the boy as he hugged the dog.
He wiped his face with his pajama sleeve, breathed in, and his smile faded into a silent sadness he was not even aware of. The boy stayed sitting on the bed for a long moment, with his knees drawn up to his chin, considering how many enigmas there were complicating his life, when he was barely thirteen.
Those dreams… Why did they repeat themselves? Ever since he could remember, he had dreamt of those strange lights he could find no explanation for. He felt unease, worried by the fact that perhaps they meant he was sick in his mind. At least that was what his grandmother Lulita had suggested when he had confided his worries to her, and for that reason, and to avoid being frowned on by others, he now kept them secret.
A beam of light came in through the window, falling on the thoughtful boy’s face. Suddenly all his worries evaporated, he cheered up and began to stretch arms and chest. “All days are beautiful, as long as we have the will to recognize the fact,” he said to himself as he got up, feeling under his feet the old wooden floor of the Ranch, built by his ancestors several generations before.
“Work is the way to happiness,” he said, echoing his grandmother’s words. Rufus watched him curiously, tilting his head, moving his ears, as his master followed his daily ritual. After so many years, the dog knew the boy well. He whimpered, urging him to hurry; soon the liquid fire of the sunrise would bathe the earth.
The young shepherd understood the message and dressed quickly, for it would be unacceptable to miss the sunrise; beside, it would put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day. But first he had to go to the stable, to gather together the sheep, which would be waiting for him so that they could go out to graze.
Rufus ran out after his master, barking and leaping with happiness. The young shepherd felt the morning cool envelop his skin, the sweet dew suspended in the air. From the branches of the trees as they yawned there fell great drops, the zephyr filtering through the leaves. The little birds tuned their throats, uttering joyful melodies.
He reached the Observatory followed by the loyal Rufus and the four sheep. The dawn was rising over the property before his eyes, in a spectacle directed by the baton of a natural, invisible magic, thanks to the radiant energy of the sun. The four sheep scattered as soon as they arrived. The Observatory, that landscape which seemed surrounded by a spiritual aura, was his favorite place, the best one for watching sunrise and sunset.
A tree they called the Great Pine crowned the hill, standing out above its summit. The Sun emerged in the distance, on the horizon of a vast plain which was taking on a radiance in the magical moment of dawn. The boy climbed to the top of the hill and sat down with his back against the trunk of the great tree. A few moments later, enthralled by the picture, it seemed to him that the soul of the tree was swaying with the wind. He breathed in and filled his chest, feeling in harmony with life, with the flow of nature which was awakening for another day.
“You’re the heir of the ranch, there’s nobody else. If you don’t work… we’ll lose it all,” came the voice of his grandmother, as intrusive as always, echoing in his head. But it was the truth. The property had fallen into decay s
ince his grandfather’s tragic death thirteen years before. Unfortunately he had never known Eromes, the great rancher. He only knew about him through the stories his grandmother told him, stories which told of his connection with the landscape which surrounded them. It troubled the boy to feel those thoughts intrude upon his contemplation of the dawn. It was the only moment of the day when he could feel really free. Apart from the time when he was with Luchy.
He closed his eyes and let himself drift.
The wind caressed his soul, which swayed like an ear of wheat. Nothing made him fly like the dawn.
Ounces, the name one of the three rams had earned by eating non-stop was chewing the grass frantically. The other rams were Bruno and Lump; Grandma had given them those names. The only ewe in the flock, Pancha, was very old and only wanted to be by herself and enjoy grazing without interruption. Once they had had a much bigger flock, but the decline of the ranch had forced them to sell most of the stock.
The economic disaster of his land reminded him of the political chaos of the empire. The village people gossiped about it every day. For the young shepherd, the equation was simple: politicians would always be corrupt, and the corrupt would always be politicians.
A detonation startled the boy, quieting his mind. The sky shot a luminous arrow, which the boy felt like the breaking of a wave on the beach. Dazzled by the grace of the sun, he raised his hand to cover his eyes.
The pulp of the sun poured over his soul, which took off and flew through the sky for a while. He felt he had neither body nor limits. Manchego found it hard to believe the rumors. People were saying that Alac Arc Angelo, God of Light, was dead. But how? The days were beautiful, he could not be dead. All the same, violence was growing, and with it the political crisis. Perhaps those rumors were true. Perhaps Alac Arc Angelo was dead… murdered.
The boy lowered his head and sighed when the sun rose high enough to begin a new day, ordinary and like any other. Another day of work, another day without going to school, another day without seeing other kids of his own age.
“There’s only one way to success, and that’s hard work. There are no shortcuts, there are no secrets: it’s a matter of being persistent,” as his grandmother Lulita insisted. “Manchego! Breakfast is ready!” he heard from afar, and at the same time the bell began to toll.
The lad took his staff and began to call the small flock together. Bruno and Lump obeyed at once, Ounces soon took up his position at the head of the group but Pancha did not move, subjugated by the vision of the dawn.
***
The smell of scrambled eggs invaded the room. Lulita shook the frying pan, scraping the metal bottom with the wooden spoon to get every last crumb. Manchego sat down and picked up the wooden utensils, waiting for his breakfast with the hunger of a puppy.
When she had served him, Lulita too sat down. She bit into an apple and went back to the usual story:
“You’re the heir of the ranch… oh yes, sunshine!”
“Grandma, who is sunshine?” he asked with his mouth full of bread and egg yolk. A few crumbs went flying from his mouth, which annoyed his grandmother because of his lack of manners.
“It’s you, sunshine. Don’t you understand? You’re my grandson, obviously, but in the village we like to call the children of our families that. It’s confusing, but of course every culture has its own special ways that no-one understands.”
The grandmother shrugged and went on chewing the piece of fruit while she watched her grandson gulp down his breakfast. He had the fierce appetite of a boy with a bottomless stomach.
“The harvest’s is coming, sunshine,” the grandmother went on, full of hope. “That’ll let us make a few coins, and with luck they’ll last us a few more months. Manchego, you know you must pay attention to what Tomasa has to teach you. I know it’s not easy to work under her eye, because that woman is as hard as iron. But your grandfather did well when he hired her, she’s a Wild Woman, strong as an ox, smart as a fox. I tell you: Tomasa is someone to admire.”
The sunlight reflected on the grandmother’s skin. It was golden, like Tomasa’s. Lulita was a Wild Woman too and as tall as the men and women of that land: harsh in character, with caramel-colored eyes. She was set apart from the other natives by her accent, perhaps because she had been born in the Empire and not in the Wild Lands. Manchego lowered his gaze to his own hands, which were tan, not golden. Either his father or his mother, or both, must have been dark-skinned, but he could not know, as he had never met them. Lulita took a sip out of the clay mug of coffee before she went on:
“The village is out of control, violence is rampant. Before, you could go out shopping without any qualms, you know? But nowadays if you’re not careful they’ll take anything you’re carrying with you. And all these rapes and crimes… and the kidnappings. It didn’t use to be like that. It’s all the Mayor’s fault. Ever since he took power, almost four years ago, peace vanished from the village,” Lulita muttered, as if losing herself in a distant memory.
Manchego crossed his wooden implements on the empty plate. He finished the coffee in his clay mug, as old as the Ranch.
“Anything else, sunshine?”
“No thank you, Grandma,” the boy said with a sad smile.
“Don’t come complaining that you’re hungry later.”
Lulita stared into her grandson’s eyes. That deep gaze in a lad was something very unusual. Besides there was that sad smile. Could it be because of those strange dreams he had? The young shepherd left the room, followed by Rufus, who was barking happily. The grandmother followed them with her gaze, sad at the memory of her dead husband and of what that had meant in her life.
Chapter II – Working The Land
Tomasa wielded the shovel as a knight wields his sword. From behind, anybody would have thought this was a powerfully-built man, with that wide back and the folds of fat which hung to either side. Her golden skin, that of a native of the Wild Lands of Devnóngaron, shone in the sun. As soon as she had started working at the ranch she had earned her nickname: the Bear. She was one of the few people who had got to know Eromes, the famous rancher. Had it not been for that, she would certainly have stopped working at the ranch by now.
When Manchego arrived to begin his chores in the fields, the woman welcomed him by telling him off at length, the words underlined by the heavy Devnóngaron accent.
“And why is it you’re so late, eh? For goodness’ sake, lad! You don’t seem to see, discipline’s what this world needs, lad! For goodness’sake! To work, because the afternoon’s on its feet already and you’re not, lad!”
Manchego was paralyzed.
“To work, then!” Tomasa shouted again, her round face filled with rage, her golden skin reddening. Manchego never felt like working in the fields as this meant giving up school, something he hated. Because of that he did not see Luchy as often as before. Besides, he never made many friends, so that the mere fact of attending school made him feel he was part of something. But now, far from the other boys of his own age, he felt isolated and forgotten.
By noon they had covered quite a lot of land, mostly thanks to Tomasa. The servant worked fast, at the expense of quality. It was not hard to see that the land lacked the hand of an experienced farmer. The shepherd snorted as he raised his eyes and realized how much they still had left to do.
“Keep working!” Tomasa shouted.
The boy wished he was fifteen and could enlist as a soldier in the small village militia. The drawback was that he would stop seeing Luchy, Lulita and Rufus. This made him sad. But he had to get used to the idea, because that moment would come and he would have to enroll to fight against deserters and other bands of bandits and scoundrels. Manchego stopped. He put his hands to his lower back with a grimace of pain. He breathed deeply. It seemed to him that he had been slaving for hours with his back bent over the ground, and it was not even lunchtime.
“Hello!”
Manchego straightened. He blinked, una
ble to believe what he saw. He was so tired he had not seen her coming. He rubbed his eyes so as to better appreciate that princess dressed in purple tulle… No, it was Luchy in her cotton clothes, like any other villager, but for a moment he dreamt, before that lovely face: the eyes, large and almond-shaped, two emeralds: her chestnut hair, long and straight.
“Silly, it’s me. Your grandmother’s sent you this,” the girl said with a smile that melted the shepherd. It was lemonade with honey and cookies with caramel pudding. Manchego was already savoring these delicacies, not to mention the palpitations caused by the sight of his best friend glowing in the sunshine. Luchy laughed at her friend’s dirty, downcast face.
Tomasa interrupted the meeting.
“What on earth’s going on here? There’s a pile of work to do yet.”
“Hello, Tomasa!” Luchy said in her crystal-clear voice. She had the gift of mellowing anybody with her voice and her charm. She offered her lemonade with a friendly gesture. “I thought you’d be thirsty too.”
Tomasa allowed herself to be seduced.
“Hey… hey…” she started to stammer. The big woman was not used to courtesy. Perhaps because of her animal appearance she was not often treated like a person, with needs and weaknesses of her own. “Thank you, missy. Gods bless you!” she said, and was quick to drink her share. Manchego did the same. At the end he burped. “You pig!” Luchy reproached him, laughing.
The servant could not help laughing too.
Manchego blushed.
“Oops, excuse me,” he muttered. Tomasa could not help a feeling of tenderness toward the two children. She was aware of how unfair it was that Manchego had to work.
“You’re done for the day, my little Manchego. But mark my words, be careful about coming late. I need you to go on working the land, because you just look how many things there are still left to do. Bye then!”
The Sacrifice (The War of the Gods Book 1) Page 1
