The Sacrifice (The War of the Gods Book 1)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  He dodged rubble, inert bodies, ownerless weapons, dead horses. He tripped over the body of a girl. Luchy? No, he sighed in relief. He bent over her and saw that she was hugging something small. It was a baby pierced by a spear.

  Sadness overwhelmed him. An explosion in the sky brought him out of his self-absorption. The cries of pain, the noise of a clash, told him he was close to the survivors of the destruction. Manchego and Teitú looked at one another and understood. Not more than a block away, a fire was advancing. Several organized soldiers were marching against the defense mounted by a few villagers, not more than twenty, who were fleeing at the same time as they were raising barricades.

  Involuntarily Manchego set forth a beam of white, divine light, and a rider on a white horse took courage. When he looked more closely at them he could not believe his eyes: it was Sureña… and Lulita! The grandmother was brandishing an axe which she caused to dance in the air, hacking here and there, moving shrewdly. The boy also recognized the big body of a woman, perhaps Tomasa, armed with a pick which she was using to smash skulls with apparent ease.

  “Sun little sun!” he heard behind him. He turned to look, suddenly fearful. Behind him, smiling broadly, was Mowriz. He bent one knee to the ground: “Sun little sun!” the bewitched lad repeated, lowering his head. He looked like a knight paying his honor to his king, giving himself over completely to him and to his will.

  The young shepherd found himself in a serious dilemma. He had to choose between defending those people who were fighting in retreat, among them his grandmother, or go on with his mission of reaching the Town Hall and killing Feliel.

  With pain in his heart, he knew his duty was to carry out the mission which fate or the gods had put in his way; it was the only way to stop that chaos.

  “Mowriz! Stay here and help these people. You see that white mare and her rider? Defend them at any cost, them and all those who are part of the Resistance. Do you understand? Kill the soldiers.”

  “Sun little sun!” Mowriz picked up a sword from the floor with his one arm and threw himself into the battle, as if driven by demons. In a matter of seconds, Manchego’s worst enemy – by the grace of an order of his own – joined the defending forces, which were barely managing to contain the attack.

  There was no time to be lost. Manchego ran towards the Town Hall.

  Chapter XXVII - Executioner

  Panting, he reached the Central Park, followed by a wake of terror. His heart sank again before the decapitated statue of Alac Arc Angelo; at its feet, the face was covered in excrement. Teitú’s light bathed the white statue in blood-red, surely an ill omen.

  The Central Park was empty and silent, the trees had twisted, perhaps defeated in the face of so much suffering. Manchego looked up. There was the epicenter of the spiral cloud, which spun slowly over the Town Hall. He set off quickly, trying to make very little noise. He clutched the broken sword firmly, ready to defend himself.

  The rocky structure of the Town Hall was surrounded by a deadly silence, but Manchego was not going to cower now. He walked to the entrance of the building, went up a large step and found himself in front of a double wooden door with a rustic brass knocker. The doors were ajar. Manchego took this as a clear invitation to enter.

  He hesitated. He could turn round and forget all that tangle. He should have worried about Grandmother and Luchy; now they might be part of the wall of corpses. No, no… he could not afford to feel sorry for himself. He would look for them afterwards, when he had done what he was bound to do.

  He pushed the doors, the hinges screeched and the noise echoed. When it faded away, it left behind it a penetrating silence that bit off every second. He looked back once, then went on along a long passage, with the broken sword firmly held in his hands, defending his flanks, afraid to fall into some trap or other. But nothing happened.

  The passage, faintly illuminated by several candles, had rooms on both sides. In there, too, terror reigned: bodies on the floor, of villagers and guards who had not been careful enough to keep watch on the doors, toppled shelves, broken armchairs, glass and ornaments, bloody lengths of fabric…

  There reigned such abandon that the resulting feeling was of peace, of eternity waiting to be consumed by the passage of time. Manchego went on warily, on the defensive, his eyes fixed on the light from Teitú, whose sensitivity would detect danger. Feliel might be in any of those rooms, waiting to unleash an ambush. How could he guess his hiding place? The mysterious sorcerer had been very clear, they were waiting for him there… although it could be a trap, perhaps Feliel was the sorcerer himself.

  Manchego began to feel a presence he could not see and went on in that direction. Intuition guided him to a long passage with a closed door at the end of it. The door was wooden, of simple make, with a metal knob which was in need of a good polish. The boy knew that what he was looking for was behind that door. The certainty came as a spontaneous revelation which he never doubted. Teitú shone more intensely.

  He pushed the door and went in. He was enveloped by such darkness that it even blinded Teitú’s light. At some incalculable distance a bright ring was visible. He went up to it, guessing that the ring was protected by a spell, like the invisible door in Ramancia’s house, which would probably only let certain people through: among them, certainly, Manchego.

  A few steps from the ring, the boy realized it was really a dome of white light. Underneath, an altar covered by a red cloak embroidered with gold, a bench, several books with black covers and… a body on its knees. On the red cloak lay an open book with thick yellowed pages and long paragraphs of close handwriting. A knife served as a bookmark.

  The kneeling man stood up. He was in his fifties, dressed in a black cassock. He gazed up at the hole in the roof, through which the white light filtered. His arms were outspread, as though he were receiving the grace of some divine force. His hands were stained red. At his feet lay a goat with its throat slit, in a puddle of its own blood, within a five-pointed star, each of its points crowned by a candle.

  On the altar, beside the book, was a gold goblet, and a scarlet drop slid, thickly and slowly, from its rim. The man’s lips too were stained. He was muttering something. He closed his eyes tightly and his face became filled with hatred, his hands tensed. A hoarse sound came from his throat and the floor began to shake.

  He turned abruptly, as if he had only then noticed he had a visitor. His eyes opened wide. He did not hide his surprise at seeing a skinny young man, dressed in rags and with a gaze of extraordinary power. When he saw Teitú, he started to hunch himself like a snake preparing to strike.

  Manchego noticed the dome, the altar, the book, the dead goat on the floor, the bedeviled look of the man, dressed like a priest of the Décamon. Behind those eyes was an evil both natural and undeniable. Teitú burst into a rainbow of reds which spread all around.

  “Feliel!” cried Manchego in a voice torn from the depths of his being, from fear, pain, hunger and the unappeasable desire for revenge.

  The cry traveled through the entire dome, which was now lit up in red. The man shivered, he had never suspected he would have to face such a young boy. At the same time the presence of the Naevas Aedán told him this was no ordinary child but someone very special.

  “You’re very reckless, little intruder. I’m impressed by the energy your soul gives out,” he said calmly. “Feliel… Do you know that I always hated that name? You must know, you little vermin, that they call me by other names too. In my country they adore me as the Dark Shepherd, one of many we have in that nest of evil.”

  Manchego could not stop thinking of the massacre of thousands of people, with their parents and children, their dreams and plans. His own grandmother might be dead, buried under rock and ashes, and this Mayor would not care. The Dark Shepherd went on speaking calmly.

  “Tell me, you disgusting vermin, how can I help you?” His face twisted into a perverse expression as he fondled the handle of a dagger he wore at
his belt.

  “I’ve come to stop you,” the boy replied firmly, in a metallic voice which did not even sound like his own. “Your madness has wreaked havoc, devastated fields, murdered innocents. Nothing could make up for sorrow like that, but you’re going to pay dearly for it, I can assure you.” And as he fixed his eyes on those of the Dark Shepherd he was no longer a teenager full of doubts, easy to intimidate.

  “You’re a really extraordinary young man,” Feliel said. “It’s a pity that you’re not fit for the Black Arts, you might have gone far in Necromancy. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to introduce you to my master, Legionaer, who no doubt would be very pleased to count you among his faithful followers. You’d be…”

  “Shut up!” howled Manchego, with Teitú by his side giving out flashes. “I’ve learnt about the cruel forces that have tried to defeat me, among them the ones you’ve invoked to destroy the village.”

  He took a step forward. Feliel shrank and stepped back. He might have been a demon intimidated by the brightness of an invisible light.

  “How do you know I did it?” Feliel asked.

  “A servant of yours told me.”

  “I should have slit that witch’s throat before… I never imagined you’d find her, I locked her up somewhere very secluded … Who are you? Really, you’re rather extraordinary…”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ve come to stop you.” Manchego took another step.

  Feliel leaned back, terror made him shake. “The drop of blood has been shed and the sky is ready: the cloud is spinning, the earth is shaking. What do you think you’re going to stop?”

  “You.” Manchego hesitated as he heard a noise, as if something had been set in motion, and he realized Feliel had noticed his doubt.

  The Dark Shepherd took advantage of this to make his mark: “Maybe I’m the one who should stop you. The master spoke of a creature I had to eliminate. I’ve offered you the chance to join us, but you’re too stupid. You’re a bunch of incompetents, all of you who populate the Mandrake Empire. Nearly four years ago I was appointed Mayor of this pigsty. You never suspected my land of origin, Némaldon, nor the fact that I never abandoned its rituals. I made and unmade at my pleasure.

  “It was the simplest, most amusing thing to convince the rich to squander, to consume their lives without glory. They died so easily! It’s impressive how easy you are to manipulate, you oafs, you loathsome Mandrakes.

  “Those who wouldn’t allow themselves to be seduced I had to torture. It was a pleasure to shed their blood for the divine sacrifice. The master returned, thanks to your vital liquids! Lives, thousands of them, in exchange for a much more important life! This is a work of great beauty!”

  The Dark Shepherd laughed like a veritable maniac.

  “I don’t know how you got here, but I’m glad, this makes my way so much easier. I’ll finish you off quickly, there’ll be no one to protect you. Look at you: you’re a skinny child, innocent as well as ignorant. You’re useless.

  “I’m the Dark Shepherd who created the most important necromantic ritual of all times. The master will save my soul, there’s no doubt about that. Come here, you little rat… I have your fate on the blade of this dagger. Die! Long live the Black Arts! Let the Mandrake Empire succumb!”

  Feliel hurled himself into the attack with a war cry and the dagger aimed at Manchego’s neck. He was faster than he had imagined, but not as fast as the boy.

  Teitú exploded, and with a nimble movement Manchego dodged the knife and then hurled himself at Feliel. It all happened as quickly as a bolt of lightning crossing the sky. Manchego wielded his broken sword, which… pierced Feliel’s chest. The Dark Shepherd’s face had turned pale, and out of the corner of his mouth ran a trickle of blood.

  The boy took a deep breath. He felt that all his energy had evaporated. He had killed a person, but he did not feel bad. It was the end of Feliel’s terror, the Mayor was no longer a threat, and all this was thanks to the forces of good which had prepared him for this confrontation. But if he had accomplished his mission, why did he feel this business was not yet over? He looked around. He was no longer beneath a dome, but in one of the many rooms of the Town Hall. Somehow seeing Feliel’s inert cadaver made him feel empty, when it should have made him feel accomplished for having stopped the author of this menace.

  “Feliel’s government of terror has finally fallen. We’ve won,” the boy said to himself, and he got up, surprised by the silence and the fact that he had appeared somewhere else without noticing. The need to flee the Town Hall brought him out of his self-absorption. He went to a window and looked up at the sky, where the spiral cloud was still spinning. Should it not have stopped with Feliel’s death?

  He ran to the exit, hoping to find the explanation for this dark phenomenon. Outside there was only silence. His heart sank, Teitú shone a bright red. Something terrible was on its way.

  Chapter XXVIII- The breeze of silence

  Savarb led them to the village. In spite of the piles upon piles of corpses there were still survivors, and they were waiting in the Asaetearas Fort.

  “Soldiers!” one rider shouted in warning, but too late, because the spear pierced his chest at that precise moment and he fell dead.

  Another spear, and another and another, flew out of the darkness.

  “To the booth!” shouted Savarb, possessed by a madness which threatened to overcome him. His companions were dying in an ambush, he had already counted ten bodies, and he saw no way of saving the lives of the others. The leader of the Resistance knew perfectly well that they would all be dead soon. What was wrong with those soldiers, that they were capable of such cruelty? He was convinced that they must feel like pawns of an unstoppable force, and automatically he looked up at the sky, at that gloomy cloud.

  The riders went into the booth, among the mass of junk which had been gathered together and put there to block the entrance of a large number of soldiers. Savarb, a man of war who had served under the command of General Leandro Deathslayer, knew they were all doomed, since the Asaetearas Fort would not withstand an attack by over two hundred soldiers. He was sure that very soon the Resistance would fall.

  “To arms!” he yelled. “Get ready!”

  A brutal detonation spread like a curse through the village. The sound came from the center, most likely from the Town Hall.

  Lulita opened her eyes wide, staring up at the sky. Luchy’s gaze was still fixed on the horizon. All turned their attention towards the same place: the Town Hall. In the distance a few clouds were moving at unusual speed, very rapidly and in the same direction, as if some gravitational force were drawing them on.

  Savarb, together with a few others who had seen other extraordinary phenomena, suspected that behind all this must be a necromancer’s spell. The Black Arts were practiced by the Nemaldines, the Mandrake Empire’s oldest enemy. Némaldon was a land of occult powers and monsters fetched from the deepest, most inaccessible reaches of the shadows. But after four hundred years of peace, nearly everyone had forgotten the existence of such ill-omened beings as orcs, wraiths and other beasts.

  The clouds continued on their way and amassed in the center of the village, one after another, creating a gigantic sphere which occupied most of the horizon. There came another blast, and a green beam crossed the sky as if a god had unleashed his fury on the world.

  The sphere began to move at ever-increasing speed, and arms emerged from that shape, stretched and twisted, then danced around the spiral cloud. The watchers were all left staring in wonder, paralyzed, caught up by this spectacle. The spiral spun around a central axis: the Town Hall.

  Savarb’s heart raced insanely in his chest. The survivors were people little used to war; they would be an easy prey for the soldiers, who were clearly possessed by the effect of some potion or powerful spell.

  “To arms! To arms! The moment has come!” Savarb urged them, gripped by fear, without taking his eyes from the horizon. He knew his moment had come, that today he wo
uld die, but with the honor due to the people for whom he had given himself up to his last breath. He touched the metal of his sword, felt the coldness of the blade, its powerful and savage edge. His breathing became agitated.

  He drew his weapon and pointed to the center of the village, as if he were challenging the Mayor himself, and said: “Let the final battle begin! May your soldiers taste the edge of the metal I shall use to overthrow you!”

  A wave of peace ran throughout his body, as if accepting that his fate had prepared him for a fight whose unfortunate end he could foresee, but with the certainty that one day a force of good would defeat evil. He thought of Manchego, the boy he had met a couple of days before. He prayed to the god of light that the boy might be far from the shadows.

  The sound of metal boots on the cobbled ground brought the Captain back to reality. It was time, the battle of the besieged would begin and end today. The survivors would be decimated, their bodies would be piled in heaps and death would spread like that blackness itself. But they would not accomplish it easily.

  The people of the village had nothing more to lose, they had been cornered ̶ and there is nothing fiercer than a cornered beast. It might have been a fight between rabbits and wolves, but even rabbits have teeth.

  “To your posts! To battle! The end has come!”

  Savarb watched several villagers form a group, then join him on the roof of the house where they had made their stand. Among them was the lady he had found in a ranch, together with another rancher.

  ***

  Luchy was sitting on a bed made of straw and refuse. It was the place which a nurse had pointed out to her so that she could find a little comfort. She knew she was not the only person who had lost her whole family, but she could think of nothing else, she had not even had time to get used to the idea of being left all alone; her world had just collapsed around her.