Manchego put his hand in his pants pocket and took the Teitú nut out. He liked to play with it, throw it in the air, catch it and then throw it again.
“You’re a very strange nut…” muttered the boy, and put it away again.
He was sitting on the grass. At a safe distance, the donkey was grazing.
“We have to go back for a spade and a pick, donks.”
He had left the tools in the field, perhaps on purpose; now he was only thinking that a new sunset awaited him.
The donkey remained unperturbed while Manchego saddled him.
It was a leaden day, with a covering of clouds that threatened to break. They had been praying to the goddess of water, Mythlium, so that she would end the drought, and apparently the deity had listened to the pleading, those and grandmother’s that he would not lose himself in any more sunsets, because the rain began to fall in heavy drops.
“By the gods… May Mythlium be merciful…” Manchego sighed, looking up at the sky, where the clouds were swelling and whirling. In a single instant the drizzle turned into a storm, with the water falling furiously.
A flash of lightning crossed the sky like an elk’s horn. Manchego shivered, cold crept up his back. Soon the water soaked his clothes, he had to find shelter. The nearest place was the one he avoided most: the graveyard.
He set off at a run and reached a field surrounded by a worn-out wooden fence. When he looked up he made out the eleven headstones of his deceased relatives. To one side, the little white house with a red roof blanched by the sun.
A black owl with very yellow eyes was perched on one of the headstones. The bird studied Manchego with its intense, strangely intelligent gaze, unperturbed by the beating of the rain.
Manchego walked quickly, trying to ignore the bird and feeling tempted at the same time. The entrance to the graveyard was a gate held by a hinge so rusty it might give way at any moment.
At his hurried steps, rats and pigeons fled to hide in the crannies of the tombs. The black owl followed him with those intense yellow eyes. It was barely a couple of yards away from the boy. Suddenly it flew away and disappeared amid the dense foliage. Manchego went up to a very old portico with three feeding-troughs under the roof. Several farming tools hung from a cobwebbed wall.
The boy tethered the donkey to the column of the portico, then without paying attention to any other detail turned to the forgotten little house. The lock was forced, so he slipped inside, making as little noise as possible, like a ghost. The atmosphere changed radically, as if he had stepped into a bubble with a different temperature and pressure. The silence was welcoming.
The rain sounded like a distant echo, transmitting serenity. Particles of dust floated in the air. It was a moment of sublime beauty. Manchego took a deep breath of the air, which smelt damp and forgotten. The house was a cube with two small windows and a door, divided into two rooms, separated by a plain wooden wall. On the right-hand wall, where one of the windows opened, was a wooden chair, and beside it a bedside table on which lay the remains of a red candle. A small painting of a sunflower decorated the wall above the bedside table.
The door to the other room was ajar. It seemed to move from inside, but it was only the wind, edging through the cracks of the house. He felt an irresistible impulse to find out what was behind that door.
Something was calling him. He felt himself recovering control over his body as he went into the room, in shadow. He stretched out his hands, his fingers, like antennae which could catch whatever was hiding in that gelatinous darkness. There was a familiar smell.
Lightning lit up the room. At the entrance was a desk with a candle on it. In the darkness once again, Manchego felt along the table for something to light it with. He found some matches, struck them and the lamp gave off a wavering orange light. Besides the desk there were a chair and a bed, covered with a blue comforter with tiny sunflowers. On the desk was a red candle, almost used up, and beside it an open book with a charcoal pencil in the middle.
The pages were dusty and moth-eaten. From where he was he could not read, so he went close and picked it up. He sneezed as he disturbed the dust. He examined the volume. The cover had an engraved emblem, with underneath it: “Holy Comment Ranch. Crops between the years 421 – 431 p.k.” He turned to the open page. The writing was almost illegible. He read in a whisper:
Holy Comment Ranch
431 p.k.
Crops
Day one:
The tunnels are wide. Three trees, as big and wide as the ceiba of the Mamantal, or five like the Great Pine, would easily fit. They are dark and desolate, and I have found no life in them.
This place oozes death, I feel surrounded by it at every moment. I swear by the goddess of night that it is deeply strange. I never imagined there could be such a desolate place in our empire, much less underneath my land, the land where my family has lived for three generations. And yet I must accept that the structure of this place is very special, too perfect.
After going deeply into it for a good while, I decided to go back to the Ranch, as I knew that Lulita would be very worried about me. She does not suspect anything, and I must not tell her anything, at least not yet. I do not want her to panic. I shall tell her as soon as I can make any sense of this evil place.
Day two:
I had to come back to the tunnels. I dreamt about the shadow and its flame, which devoured me. My adventure did not last long, as I was poorly prepared. I shall come back tomorrow. Today I prayed to the goddess of the night, D’Santhes Nathor. I asked her to protect me with her shadow.
Day three:
Today I found light, but it was green, ghostly. I chased it and realized that it came from the rocks. What is this? Can it be a blasphemy against the god of light?
I heard voices, whispers, without being able to discern any words. Or perhaps my mind played a trick on me after so many days in this hell.
Tomorrow I shall go in again and take a path with a low ceiling, which obliges me to crouch as I walk. I had better arm myself. I am not a man of arms, nor do I care for violence, but I feel the need to protect myself. There is something which lurks in the shadow.
Day four:
I have arranged everything with Tomasa so as to be away for the whole day, if not more. I am carrying three torches, many matches, and a rope in case I lose my way. I must find out what mystery these tunnels hide, and where they lead to. The impulse to explore them is too strong.
Balthazar is already preparing the goods we are to transport across the Tempranero Sea, from the port of Merromer, to the north ̶ bordering Háztatlon ̶ towards Grizna, for some new customers. Can I believe that Princess Sokomonoko herself has asked for my produce? It is incredible. I shall pray to the goddess of water that she may protect our goods.
Tomorrow I shall ask my colleague if he knows anything more about the black owl on the headstone of my ancestors.
I hope to come back to these pages to write about a “day five” in the tunnels.
Eromes
Breathless, Manchego closed the book. He felt a sudden flash of emotions, for he felt both happy and frustrated on reading these notes. There was no “day five”. “This book belonged to my grandfather! It’s impossible! It’s the second thing I have of his, beside this vest,” the boy thought, moved. “My grandfather… tunnels…Balthazar?” His surprised face was illuminated by the strength of the candle which continued to dance calmly.
Everything was very strange, too somber even. He found it hard to imagine his grandfather, a rancher, engaged in an adventure like this, much less that there were tunnels underneath his lands. His grandfather had also spoken of a black owl. Could it be the same one which had been watching him a moment before? Could it be that a family of owls had lived there since remote times? What startled him most, though, was the mention of Balthazar. Was this the same one he had met a few weeks before in the Central Market?
When he left the room he realized tha
t the day had cleared up, as if the storm had come to cleanse the sky. He considered taking his grandfather’s book with him, but he knew that in this place it would be safe from his grandmother’s questions. He could not think how to explain this discovery.
Outside he was greeted by a gust of cold air, his feet sank in the mud. In the treetops, drops of water sparkled like tiny jewels. From one of the headstones the owl watched him with an unfathomable gaze. Manchego went closer, watched by the bird’s penetrating yellow eyes. When he was only a few steps from it, the bird took off. How strange it all was.
The graveyard was silent. Despite the fact that it was filled with the dead, it did not give a somber impression. The boy passed among the graves and read various headstones. One which looked quite ancient read: “Ermeos, who traveled leagues until he found his home and there sowed the fields with his gift, and they returned their fruits with generosity. May his name shine forever in the sky and his family prosper in the opulent Holy Comment which he founded.” The next headstone read: “Esomer, son of the founder of the Holy Comment, may he rest in peace. May his buried body serve as fertilizer to these blessed lands, may his nobility cause the fruits to blossom and feed his sons and daughters, and the sons and daughters of the QuepeK’Baj.”
The next headstone was closer to him. “Eromes the Perpetuator, highest and most excellent farmer, proper, elegant, humble, attractive, kind, austere and passionate. We lament his passing to eternal life, to the Deep Azure of the Skies, for his harvest, although good, did not turn out as it should have. Even so, we still enjoy his natural gift for the moving of nature. May the god of light always light his way.”
“My grandpa…” the boy had told himself sadly when he had first visited the grave. He vowed to visit it more often. He could not believe that his grandmother had never even told him about the place, but probably it brought her bad memories, and for that reason she wished to avoid it.
Beside it were two nameless headstones, but bearing a message which left him thoughtful: “For those unfortunate ones whose names cannot be said aloud, for those who did not manage to open their eyes and breathe, for those sad souls who died without mercy, for those souls the gods claim for themselves. For them we pray. They watch all night over us.”
“What do these words mean?” Manchego had asked himself, deeply intrigued.
Behind these headstones were five others of the same size, perhaps those of the wives and companions of the great ranchers. They were decorated with creepers engraved on the stone. Their names and epitaphs had been erased by the rain. Manchego took the donkey’s reins and set off back home, before his grandmother got impatient and started looking for him. He had not realized it, but he was holding the Teitú nut tightly in his hand.
Chapter VII – Natura naturata
A raging bout of flu tormented the little shepherd. The strange thing was the period of sleep it brought on, which lasted three days. Luchy visited him several times, stroked his tightly-clenched fist, tried to open it with all her strength, even with Lulita’s help. It was impossible. They had to give up when they noticed that it seemed to be causing the boy pain. Neither of them could imagine that in that tight fist he was holding the Teitú nut Ramancia had sold him.
The last evening of that long sleep, the Ranch had an unexpected visitor. Lulita had not noticed him come in, and neither had Rufus. He was like that: fleeting as smoke. Lula went to him when she saw him, too close to her grandson’s bed.
“We thought you were dead,” she said in a cold metallic voice.
“Obviously you’re mistaken.”
“We believed you’d killed yourself after his death,” the woman said, remembering the moment when her beloved had died in her arms.
“It was very hard to heal the wounds his death caused me, but time heals all.”
“Why now?”
“Because he needs me,” he said, and pointed at the boy. “Here you are. I’ve prepared this medicine with leaves I gathered in the woods myself. It’s ready to be applied.” He handed her a mortar with a green paste that smelt strongly. “He went looking for me, did you know? He needs me, I know. Mother told me.”
“I thought you didn’t care, either about him or the ranch or the animals or anything at all. You’re bloody selfish! You left just like that!”
“I couldn’t imagine he’d turn into such a… special boy. There’s something in those eyes, curiosity maybe. His soul… has something.” The man paused and then changed the subject. “In those days my loyalty was to your husband. You have to understand the reason I left. I couldn’t go on here, in the place where… it happened…”
“Hush. Don’t talk about that.” Lulita was holding the mortar with the green paste. She knew this Wild Man’s ointments and had no doubt that they would do the boy good.
“Let me stay a while,” the man begged.
Lulita looked at him distrustfully. This man had never completely convinced her.
“You have to apply the ointment today,” the Wildman went on, with his penetrating blue eyes. “It’s a very strange illness… but he’s a special boy.” He turned to the grandmother, who was watching him with a frown, without hiding her hostility. He knew it was time to go. He had done his duty. He left the same way he had come, like smoke, almost without being noticed.
The old woman sat down on the edge of the bed and with great delicacy began to spread the green paste on the boy’s lips and chest.
***
He woke up suddenly and blinked several times until his sight cleared. He saw a field of grass. It was tall, and swayed elegantly to the rhythm of the breeze. He was lying on the ground, looking up at a blue sky which distilled a clear warm light. He got up and realized he was not far from the Observatory, where the Great Pine waited for him to come and sit comfortably against its bark.
As he walked he noticed something around him, an entity which was alien to the idyllic landscape but which at the same time seemed very much a part of the soul of nature. He felt something hard in his clenched fist. He stretched out his hand: it was empty. Rufus was already waiting for him by the Great Pine, sitting on his haunches. Manchego sat down beside him, and together they gazed upon the beauty which spread before them.
The sky was turning different shades over the Devónica del Simrar range. The mountains were a deep purple.
Manchego and the dog looked at one another for a long moment. “A being reaches his maximum potential when he admits himself in his totality,” Rufus said serenely. “Establishing an intimate relationship with your inner flame allows it to come forth completely. It’s essential to know oneself, my dear. The time has come to look inwards, not outwards.”
“Why go deep into myself?”
“To reach your essence, to be complete. Nobody is complete without his essence.”
The dog’s gaze was lost in the horizon. “We are all made of the same thing. We are all and we are nothing. We have been and we will be. You must search for the truth that dwells deep in you and fuse yourself with it. What is dynamic lives, what is static dies.”
The dog’s voice faded into echoes.
***
“An adventure?” Luchy scolded. “You’ve just been terribly ill, you silly thing!” The pretty girl’s eyes shone like emeralds. They had just been admiring the sunrise. Today Luchy had woken with the idea of skipping school so as to share the sunrise with her best friend, who was still recovering from that dreadful cold.
“Tell me again, why do you like sunrises so much?” Luchy wanted to know when they were back in the Ranch.
“Hmm….well now…” Manchego scratched his head. He was nervous, he had never known how to answer that. “I just like them… that’s all.”
“Don’t be silly and tell me the truth. Is it something to do with those strange dreams of yours? You were sick for three long days, we could tell you were having very strange dreams. Tell me!”
Manchego remembered the dream in which Rufus a
ppeared and the dog spoke deeply inspiring words. “I dreamt I was at the Observatory and that Rufus spoke to me.”
“Rufus? How silly you are! Dogs don’t speak!” said the girl, and burst out laughing. “You’re wonderful, Mancheguito. Now tell me, what’s this adventure you’ve got in mind? You just want me to get involved in your tangles so we both pay the price if we’re caught. You’re a naughty boy,” she said teasingly.
“Not in the least!” The boy remembered his grandfather’s red book. “Do you remember the vendor I met at the Central Market? He’s a funny sort of guy, with golden skin. He’s a Wild Man.”
“What? What are you saying? You didn’t tell me. You don’t tell me anything anymore.”
“Oh …. sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that we don’t see each other every day, like before, and I’ve…. I’ve been so busy I think I’ve already told you everything.”
Manchego brought her up to date about the encounter. “And then I found out that my grandfather had a companion in the farming business called Balthazar. He’s the one we have to go and look for in the village,” he said with enthusiasm.
“How did you find out?”
“My grandmother told me,” he lied. He did not want to mention the strange book and its mysterious contents. Luchy eyed him suspiciously.
“Hey, come on!” Manchego cried. “How long is it since we went to the village like we used to?”
The girl smiled. She was already imagining herself sharing another adventure with her best friend.
“Do you remember the day we stole corn patties from Doña Pamala?” Manchego asked.
The Sacrifice (The War of the Gods Book 1) Page 4
