The wooden rod! Excitedly Manchego picked up the dry stick and went to the candelabra lamp. He lit the rod, then with the stick alight he went back ‒ slowly, so that the flame would not go out ‒ to the stump. He looked once again at the dent on the surface of the felled stump and thought he understood what it was there for. He deposited the flame in it.
At once the depression burnt as if it were soaked in fuel. The flame crackled, enlivened by a spell, and lit up the hall. This was the “sun little sun”; now he had to keep going in order to unravel the riddle. The creak of a lock came from the corridor. Manchego’s heart froze. He spun round at once, nerves on edge, expecting the worst. There was only one open door, the first on the right.
“Go into that room,” he ordered Mowriz, who went immediately.
The shepherd followed. The jaws of the room opened like the mouth of a corpse and revealed a mirror in a frame which allowed it to move vertically. The mirror was not large, but it could not be said to be small either.
“Bring that mirror here.”
Manchego noticed he was clutching the sword in his hands. There was no danger, he must relax, so he let it fall to the floor, where it clattered loudly.
Could this be the Mirror of the Black Queen of the Morelia Abyss? No, it can’t be as easy as that… the boy thought as he watched his guard manipulate the artifact. He dragged the mirror to where Manchego indicated, near the fire. At once the glass began to shine, as if it were absorbing the light of the fire. The flame, in turn, began to project a beam toward the stone wall.
A second door opened. Manchego spun round to look, with his imagination suffocated by fear. It was the first on the left. Again he ordered Mowriz to go there, and this time he went after him as well. Inside there was only a wooden chest in the center, barely visible in the light which came in from the corridor. “Open the chest and bring me whatever’s inside.”
Mowriz went forward and bent over the object. He opened it and took out a piece of paper which he handed to Manchego. It read: Runes.
Manchego folded the paper. “Runes? Great, more riddles!”
“Sun little sun…”
“Wait a moment…maybe that’s it. Come on!”
Manchego went to the other room and ran to the mirror. He examined it on all sides and found some white marks. It was the rune of the sun enfolded in a box. How strange.
Everything was silent. Manchego was waiting for another door to open, but nothing happened. He felt overwhelmed by so many riddles. What was the next step? He went to check whether another door had opened without his hearing it, and as he passed in front of the flash from the mirror, the beam of light fell full on his face. A third door creaked. It was the last but one on the left.
As on the previous occasions, he set off towards it with Mowriz in front of him. The hall was very dark, but he noticed that there was something on the floor. When his eyes had adjusted to the blackness he made out a small cage, but could not identify what was in it. They left the hall, Mowriz carrying the cage and the sword in the same hand. Back in the room with the fire, Manchego saw that it was a dead owl. There was also a note, folded in half. He took it out, careful not to touch the dead animal. He read the message aloud to himself quietly: “Incinerate”.
“Put the cage in the fire,” he told Mowriz. As soon as the flames licked the cage the owl came back to life, screeching in pain, desperately beating its wings. The smell and the crackling of the charred flesh were a prelude to the death, all over again, of the bird. Manchego was deeply upset. He had not expected the owl to come back to life only to die again in that agony, but he could do nothing to save it, it was too late.
Once the owl had been burnt, two doors opened in the corridor. It stank of fresh blood. In one of the chambers was a body on the floor, surrounded by a six-pointed star drawn on the floor with pumice stone. Each point was surrounded by an imperfect circle and crowned by a candle. The body had been beheaded, and judging by the stench must have been dead several days.
The boy left the room with a hand over his mouth, holding back the urge to throw up. He went to the other chamber that had opened. Mowriz picked up a note marked with bloody fingerprints. It seemed to have been written in a hurry. It read: “The chimera of a dream come true.”
Manchego had heard these words before, although he was not sure what they meant. The message referred to a dream, probably his own. Who could know his dreams? He felt a shiver run down his spine.
Something or someone was manipulating him by means of powerful spells, which was why he now found himself in such a mysterious place, in a parallel world contained in Ramancia’s house. And why me? the boy wondered. Why do I have to be the subject of some sorcerer’s experiment? He felt he was being made use of, manipulated by superior and occult forces. Going on was the only way of finding a solution, the only way of being at peace.
He forced himself to focus. He ran through it all again: he had burnt an owl and now he found himself in front of a decapitated body.
“Bring the burning cage,” he told Mowriz, “and place it where the head ought to be on this corpse.”
Mowriz took hold of the incandescent bars without any show of pain or bother at all. When he put the cage where Manchego had indicated, the six-pointed star shone furiously. A red light swallowed up everything, like an explosion, and after what seemed like a blizzard everything went dark.
In the blackness, the boy was aware of movement. Something was crawling. Two doors opened. Bare footsteps coming toward the hall with the stump.
He felt a presence behind him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He heard a murmur: “Sun, little sun.” Was it Mowriz who was chanting? He could not be sure, and in addition he did not have the sword. It was coming from the room with the stump. Manchego narrowed his eyes. The gleam was faint, but slowly increasing. The boy came closer to the room.
He saw three beings around the flames which came from the stump. They were moving their arms in circles over and over again. He swallowed. Those three beings were putrefying corpses, they stank and… they all had the heads of owls.
The three of them turned to look. Their intense, yellow eyes penetrated his soul. The boy was terrified, cold sweat soaked his bones. He hid behind Mowriz, who remained impassive, like a statue of cold stone. He stared at the corpses. He realized they formed a square, but a fourth member was missing to complete it.
Manchego felt the call, he understood that he was the missing one. He breathed deeply, determined to face his destiny. He joined those beings in their formation. When the heat and the fascination of the ritual enveloped him he began to move his arms like them, in circles, raising his palms to the ceiling, at first shyly, then more smoothly, allowing himself to be carried away by the liturgy. The temperature rose drastically, the flames gathered vigor.
From the heart of that fire there emerged a perfect sphere which began to float towards the ceiling. Manchego, given over to this act of witchcraft, made efforts to give his movements precision. The sphere left the flames and touched the stone ceiling. A bell rang and the sphere moved to reveal a vertical passage. At the end of the passage was a reflection.
The hall began to rotate and Manchego slipped toward the wall, which now became the floor. But the three corpses and Mowriz were still in the same place, which before had been the floor and was now the wall. He was completely confused; this was not a dream, it was happening in reality. He had no time to philosophize.
He walked along the passage the sphere had opened, towards the reflection. As he came nearer he could see it was a mirror held in a frame of black iron. Could it be the one belonging to the Black Queen of the Abyss of Morelia?
When he stood in front of the glass, Manchego saw it showed no special feature. He looked at his reflection. His face was covered in mud and blood, his clothes were mud-stained and torn. If Grandmother saw him like that, she would take him by the ears and shake him. He looked further. His expression was sad… why
? His gaze, his dark eyes, the black pupils… His reflection began to blink, it was not long before he burst into tears. His image walked into the mirror and the shadows swallowed him up.
Chapter XVI – Tears
The torch burned vigorously, lighting up the worried face of its bearer, whose eyes went frantically, restlessly, from shadow to shadow, searching for the path he had to follow. In his other hand he carried a sharp-edged metal sword, on which the light of the torch glittered.
Around him there erupted a hissing of weak voices, words of violence and terror which ate at his soul. Something very bad was happening and he knew it, which was why he was there, because of that and because an innocent person was in trouble. He put out the torch by stamping on it, trying not to get the wick wet, knowing he might need light again…if he came out of there alive.
He went on warily, guiding himself by the green and hellish brightness which came from the stones. He held the sword tightly, ready to attack. He could make out four figures in a cave, then hid and watched the scene.
There were two men who looked like mercenaries. They wore tanned leather protective clothing, a number of weapons hung from their belts. They were big, with massive arms and the eyes of experience. They were talking to a strange being. He noticed his armor, which fitted his body smoothly to perfection. He seemed too pale to be human, and what was more… he did not have hands, but claws. On the floor, in a puddle of blood, lay the body of a woman. Her legs were spread, her stomach was blotched with red.
“You may retire, my friends,” the clawed being said in a crystalline voice and a firm, seductive tone. “You’ve done what you were required to. Go in peace. Soon messengers will deliver a substantial reward to you.”
The mercenaries appeared restless. They said that killing the lady had not been difficult, but that what they had taken out of her womb was of a different nature, that it was all goodness.
“What’ll become of the baby, lord?”
“It’ll die tonight, just as the master, Legionaer, ordered. In Némaldon, sacrifices are necessary.”
One of the mercenaries did not seem to agree. “I’m pretty sure we’ve made a mistake,” he told his partner. “That baby is different. Didn’t you notice? To kill it would be an act of barbarity…” He turned to the pale being. “May the gods condemn you forever, dethis. May the goddess of night judge you and send you to her eternal dungeon. The baby will remain with us.”
The other mercenary unsheathed a curved sword and confronted the strange being: “You damned dethis…I don’t know how you got us to accept the deal. May the gods forgive me for what I’ve done to this woman…This is a disgrace. We’re leaving, and the baby’s coming with us.”
“The creature belongs to the master. The deal was sealed in blood and nothing can revoke it.” The dethis grinned scornfully, revealing a pair of wolfish fangs.
With a nimble movement, he attacked the first mercenary. He bit him in the neck and tore away skin, flesh and veins. The second mercenary had barely had time to raise his sword when the claws of the demon speared him through. Once both were dead, the monster began to feed on them hungrily.
The man with the torch was paralyzed. The demons of Némaldon… in the village of San-San-Tera? It made no sense, but that was the last thing he needed to worry about. The baby was still alive. He left his hiding-place, running at a crouch to get a little closer. From his new position he could see the woman’s body drained of blood, with her throat slit from side to side. Beside the grey afterbirth he found the body of the newborn, still joined to its mother by the umbilical cord. He took off his llama vest and wrapped the baby in it. Its cold little body barely moved. He cut the cord, tied a knot and returned in haste to his hiding-place. He rekindled the embers of his torch and started back to find the access to the tunnels bedeviled with that greenish light.
Eromes went into the Ranch perturbed. The shadow had touched him with its tentacles and he had noticed the contamination of his mind and soul. In his arms he carried something very special, wrapped in his llama vest. “Eromes, my love!” Lula cried, frightened at the sight of her husband’s face, his blood-soaked hands, a bundle in his arms. “Where have you been? Speak to me!”
“Here, take him! Take good care of him!” he told her, handing her the bundle.
The woman held out her arms. “By the gods!... who is this beautiful creature?”
Moved, filled with maternal instinct, Lula started to weep. For years they had tried to have children, but the gods had not honored them. She had only become pregnant twice, and both times she had lost her babies. They were buried in the graveyard.
“Lulita, nobody must find him. Give him the best of you, love him like a son and try to make him happy. The shadow… it’s terrible… malevolent… the shadow…”
The woman tried to stop Eromes, to calm him. “Wait… don’t go! Why are you going away like this? Tell me! My love!”
A young Lulita, with somber gaze, rang the bell. “Manchego!” she called the boy. “Breakfast is ready!”
A boy with a sad smile sat down at the table. A dog came to sit at his feet with its tongue hanging out from its friendly face.
“Thanks, Grandmother. I love you!”
***
It was like a slap. In that reflection he had seen his origins and now he was crying. His legs were shaking and finally his knees gave out. He slid down the stone wall and hugged himself on the floor.
“I’m an orphan? And nobody ever told me! My mother was murdered by order and someone, the man I thought was my grandfather, saved me and that’s why he died… I’m the result of a disgrace, I’m the seed of disgrace. That’s the truth that Lulita and Balthazar have been hiding from me… It was all a great lie to keep me away from the truth. That’s why I don’t look like Lulita, or Eromes, or anybody… I’m nothing but a miserable orphan, a bastard most surely… By the gods! A curse on it!!
The boy wept, unable to hold himself back. The surprise of finding out the past in the mirror had been a great shock. “They wanted me murdered… That demon had mentioned a certain Legionaer. And my father? What could he have looked like? Is it because of him that I love watching the sunrise? Or because of my mother? Why did I have to be so different? Oh gods, be merciful to me!”
He remained sitting for a while, with the crackling fire for company. The owl-headed corpses had not stopped their ritual, the portal was still open. He had resolved many of his doubts, but he was still not satisfied. What use was this truth to him now? Someone had led him there, to the truth. What had he been trying to achieve? If he had him there he would gladly have punched him, Manchego thought. Did he not guess the pain it would cause him? He wiped his nose on his sleeve. He felt the Teitú nut in his hand. The tears fell on to it. He squeezed the totem hard. “Orphan… they meant to sacrifice me, but what for?
“And now? Would you let them offer you in sacrifice?” he asked himself. “Never!” he replied at once. “I’m not going to be anybody’s sacrifice And it’s thanks to Lulita and Eromes that I’m alive.” This thought brought him out of his numbness. “Grandmother! The ranch! The village!”
He had recovered his judgment. In spite of his pain, the world went on, and if he did not hurry, soon the violence would consume the village, and he, his grandmother, Luchy, Balthazar, the ranch ‒ everybody! ‒would be buried. Could he manage to bear his grandmother’s death, the helplessness he would sink into? His love for the woman who had looked after him, who had given him her heart, just as a mother would to her son, brought him out of his sadness.
The bodies stopped moving their arms and began to leave their places. The fire went on burning lower until it was no more than a tiny light. Above, the brightness of the mirror of the Black Queen of the Morelia Abyss went out.
Chapter XVII – Tragic cascade of events
A column of black smoke rose to the sky, like the finger of some evil being prodding the white clouds. A wind from the east brought with it th
e smoke and ashes, and a smell of violence. Manchego opened his eyes suddenly. He was outside Ramancia’s house, he could not see Mowriz anywhere. Had it been a dream? Had he fallen asleep in front of the witch’s house? He straightened up and could not believe what was around him.
There were three piles of corpses by the dozen, all with a look of extreme suffering on their faces. He heard the clash of metal on metal. With a start he got to his feet, looking all around him, fearing he would be caught in some failed attack.
There came an explosion, followed by flames, cries and more clashing of swords. A group of ten to fifteen people were running, at the end of their strength, towards him. They seemed to be fleeing. “We’ve got to retreat! Retreat! To the Asaetearas Fort!” yelled one of the men, with beard and hands bloody, clothes torn and dirty and boots in no better state.
Manchego ran after them. If he stayed there, whatever was pursuing that group would finish him off too. A spear struck a man in the group. He fell, rolled as far as a mound of bodies and lay there inert. Another spear flew overhead, buzzing like a bumblebee, and buried itself in the back of a woman’s neck.
“Inside, quick!” A man was pointing to what seemed a secret entrance, hidden among ruins.
“We’re bringing a survivor of the March of the Two Hundred with us!” announced the bearded man.
“Hey, you! What’s your name?” cried another man from the roof of a house.
“Manchego,” he replied nervously. Exhausted by hunger and sleep, the boy crossed the threshold and came into a space that was no more than a street shut off by two booths assembled from rubble and garbage. So this was the fort, or at least one of the ones that Savarb, the leader of the resistance, had talked about. Manchego looked around at the defenses they had created. Those wooden houses would not withstand an attack by the soldiers.
The Sacrifice (The War of the Gods Book 1) Page 11
