“That one’s good enough for me,” said Godforsaken. He pointed to the spirits with chili. In place of his arm, he had an arrow stuck in the severed shoulder. The traveler handed him the drink to his one good hand. Godforsaken savored it and began his story.
“… And so it was that our inadequate brigade—made up, as I told you, of several men and two women, all of them miserable wretches—joined up with the power of a Wild Man. And was he big! He was at least two heads taller than me! He had arms like pincers and a gaze that could break rock. I swear the man was a sorcerer. If you’d seen how he hunted his enemies And, much worse than that, how he slowly poisoned our brigade.”
The traveler had turned pale.
“Never fear, little man, I didn’t invite you so I could rob you. I’m a deserter, that’s true, but honorable as well. I left that band of small-time crooks. But that doesn’t matter now. As I was saying, that Wild Man cursed us all. On one occasion, some people who were jealous of us attacked a trader we used to do business with. His name was Bárfalas. We had to do something, so we went after them. But the Wild Man was able to hunt them down all by himself and crush their brains with his axe. He was a great warrior, yes sir!
“I told our leader, Mérdmerén, that the man was cursed and that sooner or later we’d all end up doomed. No sooner said than done. That same night, one of our people, Ofesto, went mad. He tried to rape the daughter of that damn Bárfalas, and right there, the two women of our brigade fell. After that, the Wild Man buried his axe in that imbecile Ofesto’s skull.”
“And what was the Wild Man’s name?” the traveler asked, wide-eyed.
“Innominatus. A true son of a bitch.”
“And what happened next?”
“He disappeared.”
“Mérdmerén?”
“No. The Wild Man.”
“And where—?”
“Nobody knows, my dear traveler. What he did was leave us his curse, as if the reason he’d joined the band had been to cleanse his sins with us. I never thought we’d end up worse, but the Wild Man left us in a state of misfortune I can’t begin to describe. One by one, the members of the band fell. The last was Mérdmerén. The guards on watch duty at Ágamgor caught him and found out he was a deserter.”
The traveler seemed confused. “And you?”
“And me? High time you asked. I managed to get away.”
“How?”
“Like a coward, that’s how. I left my comrades behind, and now they’re all dead. Isn’t it a great story?”
“It certainly is! Innominatus. What an incredible guy.”
The tavern had emptied. “By the Gods, I’d better go, Mister Godforsaken. May the Gods go with you!”
“Fuck your Gods. Goodbye.” The other took his leave, moving the arrow from side to side. When the traveler had left, he grinned and looked at the purse he was holding. There, another one fell for it. At this rate I’ll soon have a fortune, he said to himself, pleased at the way he had tricked the poor man to rob him of his money.
He congratulated himself for still being fit and downed his drink. Unfortunately, he swallowed the chili pepper at the bottom, which jammed in his lungs and choked him. He began to cough. He writhed, clutched his throat, and rubbed his chest. He tried to shout for help, but his voice did not come out. He fell to the floor and dragged himself towards the counter. His face was blue.
“Stop messing around, Godforsaken,” the innkeeper complained. “Be on your way or I’ll call my men to kick you out once more. You bloody beggar, you’ll never learn. Godforsaken! I’m telling you—Godforsaken?”
The innkeeper came out from behind the counter. “Hah! You’ve overturned the chairs. You’re a son of a—”
The deserter was kicking, grasping at life, and clutching his neck as if by doing so, he could let in air. The tavern owner crouched down beside him. He did not help him but watched the deserter die a slow and painful death.
“And that’s how the great cripple comes to the end of his line of fate, right? You thought you could live by swindling people, but now you’re going to pay for being so stingy.”
As there was no one around, he took the stolen purse. Godforsaken still had some seconds to look at him scornfully before he stiffened.
“At least this bit of human refuse has left me a couple of crowns,” muttered the innkeeper, and turned to finish the day’s accounts. He dragged the corpse outside and left him for the dogs. No one would care to find out why he had died, or who that wretched being had been.
And thus, the illustrious brigade of inadequates came to an end.
Chapter XXXI – Eromes the Perpetuator
After being banished by Mother, joining a brigade of low-life deserters, and finding the intermediate name of Innominatus, he had traveled through the lands of the Empire in search of redemption. And he had found it.
When he was lost in the Central Market of the village of San San-Tera, a great man offered him a second chance. Even now he still asked himself how and why the great landowner Eromes the Perpetuator had bet on him. It was a mystery he would never resolve. It might have had something to do with the fact that his wife also came from the Wild Lands of Devnóngaron. Although Doña Lula was not a Wild Woman, like those of his clan, she was the daughter of a Wild couple who sought opportunities in the growing empire. Eromes gave him a new name and that of Innominatus was left far behind. The Wild Man could not imagine that almost two decades later, he would hear it again.
He wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his hand. Smiling, he took a deep breath, grateful to be a part of this great landholding where even the earth and the plants seemed to have a soul. This surprised him. Up until now, he had thought that beings devoted to nature and close to Mother’s soul were to be found exclusively in Devnóngaron.
It had never even crossed his mind that the Empire, with all its frivolities, might produce a man so connected to the earth. Eromes seemed to communicate with Mother at all times. His hands were magic, for whatever seed he planted would grow and the fruits and flowers and roots developed divinely. It appeared that the man was touched by the soul of Mother herself.
“Balthazar!”
The Wild Man turned and saw Eromes walking toward him. Bal-tha-zar, he said to himself. The Wild Man liked his new name, which the rancher had proposed when he found him lost in the Central Market and offered him a job. They soon became friends.
“Hello, Eromes. Fields look very good,” Balthazar said. He had begun to talk again after years of silence. Eromes was a man with a triangular face, pale thin lips, and a straight aristocratic nose. He came from the Merfel-Wilkot family, a notable one at the time of the foundation of the ranches. His eyes, the color of earth, were the windows to a deep and benevolent soul. He was tall, although not as tall as Balthazar who topped him by half a head. His thin, long-limbed body moved fluidly. The most interesting thing about him was his way of speaking which was serene, so much in touch with nature.
“You’ve done a wonderful job, Balthazar,” he congratulated him, removing the straw hat that protected his skin from the sun. “Can you believe that even Empress Sokomonoko wants to buy our products? That land’s beyond the Early Sea! How can she have heard about a small ranch in an empire as vast as this? I’ll tell you what we’re going to send the princess.” The man was always generous with his achievements, they were never something for him to brag about. “The business is growing thanks to your efforts, Balthazar. I want to teach you everything I know about agriculture so you can help us keep growing. One day, I’ll give you a piece of land so you can start your own business, all right?”
Balthazar smiled. What had he done to earn the sympathy of such a great being?
“For you, Don Eromes,” he offered him as a sign of gratitude and friendship, “llama vest for spiritual man. Llama very special in Wild Land. Meat good and fur too for the cold. I make only for spiritual man. For you.”
Eromes took the gift from his hands and studied it in awe. He
opened his mouth at the sight of such a special thing.
“It’s an incredible gift, my friend,” he said, stroking the hide. “Let’s see how it looks on me.” Moved, he put on the vest and looked at himself. “It fits very well. Lulita! Lulita! Come and see this!”
A tall lady, slim and attractive with golden skin like Balthazar’s, came toward them. She had just finished milking the cow and was carrying the fresh milk in a ceramic jug. The lady had protected her skin from the sun with a straw hat, like her husband.
“It’s beautiful, my love,” Lulita said with a nod. “Did he make it?” She gave Balthazar a guarded look. She could not get used to the presence of the enigmatic Wild Man, nor did she understand why her husband had decided to adopt him as a pupil, but she trusted Eromes and his decisions. Lulita was muscular like Balthazar, but not because she had grown in the Wild Lands of Devnóngaron, but because she had been in the army for most of her life. She had just recently retired a few years back and moved to the slow and secluded life of the Holy Comment Ranch with the love of her life. The man who saved her from a path of violence and destruction. She kept all her weapons in a chest. You never knew when a weapon would come in handy.
“I make with hands,” Balthazar replied with a smile, beaming at the vest. “Mother in everything.” He thumped his chest with his fist.
“Lunch is ready, my dear. I’m going back to the kitchen. Tomasa’s about to strain the soup.”
“Let’s go, then,” Eromes said. “Balthazar, this vest is very valuable to me, do you understand? I’ll wear it every day, and one day, I’ll leave it to my children.”
The mention of his heirs cast a shadow on Lulita’s face, for they had no children as of yet. She had already lost any hope of conceiving a child. Eromes took his wife’s arm on their way back to the Ranch while they chatted about trivial matters under the foliage of the trees.
Balthazar watched them for a long time. He had not failed to notice the lady’s sadness. He crouched and continued to till the land with a smile on his face.
The months passed quickly. One evening, Eromes arrived in a cold sweat, his face pale and a newborn baby in his arms. “Look after him! Look after him!” These were his last words before he lost his way in the darkness.
That same night, an evil shadow would invade the Ranch and Lulita’s soul would be destroyed by the loss of her beloved husband. Balthazar’s life would change course once more, poisoned by the venom of sadness.
Chapter XXXII – The Little Prince
One afternoon when he was seventeen winters, Argbralius was celebrating his progress in his studies with a glass of spirits in the company of his godfather. The boy had shown himself to have a good intellectual grasp, particularly in the field of religion like his godfather and best friend, Father Vurgomm. He would soon be of age to enlist in the army, but that was not his desire. To avoid the draft, he would pursue a religious profession.
Ferlohren wanted the boy away from the wrong kind of life, and now, thanks to the priest, he had a good opportunity to become a successful man. She had gone away. She became a nun and entered the congregation of the Holy Amrias.
Day and night, she prayed for her son’s future—the fruit of adultery whose tragic end had been murder. When she was not praying, the woman listened to her son’s great dreams, and she rejoiced at hearing him talk of how he would become a sexton and after that, a priest of the Décamon. It made her happy to know that the boy was following the right path and to know that the shadow she had glimpsed in his eyes, which had killed Trumbar, was now subdued thanks to religion. The boy, for his part, had his suspicions about the scarf she wore around her neck that covered her face, shielded behind the requirements of the convent. But there was another reason. He found it out when the woman collapsed on the stone floor of the Décamon.
“Mamma! Mamma! Vurgomm! It’s my mamma! She’s fainted!” The boy was unaware that Vurgomm was his real father, a fact Ferlohren wanted to hide. She had agreed with Vurgomm: if people found out the boy was Vurgomm’s, the priest would be hanged by the city for breaking his chastity promise to the Gods.
The priest came to them and bent over her. “By the Gods! What a terrible fever she has!”
“I’ll go and fetch the healer,” the boy said hurriedly, filled with apprehension.
“No, my son,” the woman whispered. “Let me die, won’t you? Listen: this life I’ve led has been for you and only for you. All my heart is with you, Argbralius, so that you can achieve great things and become an honorable man, an exemplary citizen. You have a wonderful future before you. You believe that too, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, Mamma, but why do you speak like that? Mamma? Mamma?”
Argbralius pulled the scarf away and saw her rotting skin, sunken eyes, and half-eaten nose. She was unrecognizable. She was diseased.
Vurgomm started back in shock. “By the Gods! She’s been touched by evil! A curse has eaten up her flesh. She must be burned, lest the infection contaminates us too!”
“Don’t say that, godfather,” the boy said in despair.
“The body must be purified. I’ll begin preparations for the funeral,” Vurgomm announced and left. The priest was glad the old woman was finally dead. She was the only other person, other than himself, who knew of Argbralius’ true origin. No one could ever find out.
“Farewell, my mamma,” the young man said. In this way, the boy was left alone in a difficult world, not knowing that he was the illegitimate son of the man who fed him.
***
At the age of twenty-three winters, Argbralius felt he was ready to begin his career at the Décamon, first as a seraph and then as a sexton. He said goodbye to Vurgomm without enthusiasm. The relationship between them had worsened over the years. Ferlohren had united them, but after her death, they started to drift apart.
Shortly after Argbralius left for the north, Vurgomm felt a great void. He thought it would be something temporary and would not last more than a few days or weeks, but it lasted for the rest of his days. He never smiled again. Over the years, the talk in the taverns of Ágamgor turned to the story of how the priest of the Décamon, who had proclaimed hope and happiness, had suddenly left everything behind and lost himself in solitary chanting deep in the forest where he may have found the peace he was seeking.
Chapter XXXIII – Nordost’s Arch
Alac Arc Ángelo was walking in the grayish dimension, followed by his faithful Naevas Aedán warrior. Together, they were searching for a clue to the mystery which kept them imprisoned there. Until then, all they had discovered was that this gray world was eternal and despairingly homogenous. During the long heavy hours, days, or years of their progress, Alac knew nothing of tiredness or boredom. It was a sign that others than those he had known in the world of his birth reigned here.
A giant structure loomed up on the horizon. It was a tall pyramid on whose tip shone a white light, as bright as a newborn star.
There’s no doubting the fact that we have to go there, the god communicated to Teitú. That light looks like a sun. Would it be possible for the creators of this dimension to have managed to trap a sun to create this riddle?
It’s true, Alac. It’s something you should take as a compliment. If someone has taken the trouble to trap you in such a strange world as this, it means they’re very fond of you.
That’s right, Naevas Aedán. Alac said, admiring the vastness of the place which seemed limitless. It worries me, though, that we might have spent thousands of years trapped here; ever since I was defeated by Legionaer.
The pyramid looked colossal and as they approached it, they could appreciate its enormous size more and more. The surface was yellow and smooth, despite being built of blocks. He could not see any structure to climb.
“Do you feel that?” Alac asked aloud with a smile on his face.
I do. What could it be?
“I think it’s the flowing of time! I feel it around me. It’s as if it were the wind…”
&nb
sp; When they reached the base of the pyramid, he felt as small as an ant. He could not even manage to see its apex. Each block was a perfect cube, at least two strides across. From each cube, there protruded several cones. How on earth are we going to go up? Those cones are too far apart to serve as footholds.
I don’t know if going up is what we need to do.
I don’t see any other option. There isn’t much more to do in this place.
Why don’t you try flying?
I tried, remember? It didn’t work.
You need to try harder. The luminous being flew around its master with a pinkish-brown color. Either you fly, or we spend all eternity wondering how to crack this riddle.
Very well then, I’ll try to fly. But if I hurt myself, you’ll be the one responsible.
Alac concentrated. He began to beat his wings strongly, as though his life depended on it. He only rose a few inches. He felt frustrated, but he was going to try again as many times as he needed to. He rose two strides. He felt the current of time go by like a gust of wind. Teitú, I think I know how to do it.
With a start, he rose a little higher, enough to gain access to the flux of time. As a wind propels a ship so too does the time-flow catch his wings.
With a strong push, he rose upwards, and in seconds, he reached the peak of the structure. That summit was the base of a platform. Gliding, the god came down and landed on that base. He looked around, frowning. An arch of immense size framed a white orb. Beside it, a gray being appeared to be waiting. Waiting for what? Or was he protecting the arch?
Alac! Danger!
I see it. Remember when I made my spear and shield out of nothing when we fought against Legionaer? Well, here they are again!
With Teitú’s help, Alac forged a spear of pure energy out of thin air. The body of the God of Light became covered by the same material that was white as pearls. A helmet enveloped his head down to his cheeks. As he came down, Alac studied his rival. It was a great dragon with metallic scales that seemed to be protecting the arch. A moustache of long whiskers fell to the ground. Its wings were folded like two metal cloaks. Its eyes looked at him with understanding.
Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3) Page 33
