Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  She sang, and her voice drenched Alac, stirring the feathers of his wings so that they stood on end like soldiers summoned to battle. Teitú turned a pale pink. They were both captivated by the melody and the woman’s presence.

  Her mouth was mesmerizing, a breeze moved her long white hair, and her hands danced as though she were playing the harp. Her lips, her neck… She looked—she looked like Luchy.

  Trusting in his ghostly, invisible state, Alac approached to gaze at this magical being at leisure. He had never felt so attracted by a woman, except for Luchy.

  But this was different, for it provoked a physical desire rather than a spiritual one. The maiden stopped singing abruptly. She opened her eyes, and Alac wondered at them. The irises were purple! And she was gazing directly into his own as if she could see him perfectly clearly!

  It had to be a mistake. The maiden could not see him; nobody could. But she did not take her eyes off his and—yes, surely she could see him. She can see us! Alac began to get agitated, his heart beating like a purebred horse galloping to its fullest. The woman was beautiful, but those eyes were not human; he had never seen eyes that color.

  Wait a moment, she wants to tell me something. Teitú was moved, as well as frightened, at the realization that another being besides Alac could communicate with him. The maiden stood up and looked at both of them.

  She closed her eyes and began to sing again. Her marvelous voice filled their surroundings. Teitú turned a bright sky blue. She’s telling us a story! She says that her name is Meromerilá and that she’s a princess of the kingdom called Milikin, one of the four most powerful in this world which is called Degoflórefor. She belongs to the Mípods, who are related to the Dakataks, a kind of insect that helped them maintain the colony. She also says that you can speak to her and ask questions, she’ll answer. I’ll act as her translator. She doesn’t know much about us, but she does know you’re a god. She thinks you’re a stray ghost. It’s fascinating!

  “How is it that you can see me?” Alac asked in puzzlement. The maiden waited for Teitú to relay the question, then replied in a guttural language. Unlike her singing, the sounds of this strange language were not pleasant, and the woman had to move her tongue in a way that was not in the least seductive.

  She says she has the gift of being able to speak to the spirits and that she had sensed you before we came near.

  Alac took a moment to ponder this. If the maiden could perceive spirits, then she might be able to give him more information to help him reach his goal. “I’m traveling between planets in a strange dimension and strange portals. I need to find myself, to give a body to my soul. I feel lost, and I want to go back to being who I was.”

  The maiden turned serious. She replied, and Teitú translated.

  She says she senses in you the effects of a broken heart. To find yourself, you must first understand and resolve your broken heart. She says that a soul which is not free of the ties of its past, of the ties of emotional suffering, cannot connect with the Beyond, with the truth.

  Luchy’s face appeared in Alac’s mind, and his heart began to beat like gushing water. Passion filled him. He wanted to cry but was not able to shed a single tear. He clutched his chest, in pain. The maiden spoke again.

  Our world is in crisis. There are new powers that want my father’s throne. If you can, when you have put your heart together again, come back to our world and shed your light upon the beings that are unable to see further than their greed.

  Ten gigantic insects with six legs and powerful exoskeletons landed beside the princess. Each had six arachnid eyes and strong mandibles like ants. They were carrying long spears.

  Alac noticed the ends of their legs, which he guessed must have lethal qualities. Two antennae grew from each head, probably to perceive every last detail of their surroundings. Judging by their movements, they seemed to be intelligent beings.

  A prince dressed in purple who looked like Meromerilá appeared behind two insects. The other insects wore green armor. Unlike the princess, he did not seem able to detect the presence of Alac and Teitú. He spoke to the woman in an authoritative voice. Teitú helped him to understand.

  Some day, your father will die and will not be able to protect you from me. You have denied me your bed and children for many years, but this will soon be over. I hate your coming here. You start thinking of things you’ll never have, and I’m fed up with your needs and with your having to sing at this hour of the night to free yourself from the demons that haunt you. Now, my princess, hurry up, and we can go back to the nest. The feast is about to begin. We’ve defeated the enemy, and we’ll soon eat their flesh.

  Meromerilá gave Alac a glance that cried out for help.

  Let them leave, Teitú advised him. This isn’t our world, and I fear the consequences of getting involved with problems that are none of our business. Before you save others, you must save yourself.

  Let’s go back to the portal right away, Teitú, Alac said, without even arguing with Teitú’s reasoning. He gave a leap and soared into the sky.

  They were back in Kanumorsus and surrounded by the infernal green light, Luchy’s image came back to his mind, and at times, that of Princess Meromerilá intruded as well.

  All the same, he knew that his passionate desires were trivial compared to the needs of the universe. Legionaer was out there wreaking havoc and torturing people while he, Alac, was moaning over love?

  Chapter XXVI – Misfortune is Unleashed

  The fugitives rode at a trot so as not to exhaust the horses, after such a wild run as that. Like a ship seeking the lighthouse on the shore, Mérdmerén was determined to get to the North. For that, he would have to avoid the king’s soldiers and the demons of the South, but no good strategy came to mind.

  Ságamas was feeling his mutilated leg, which hurt. He was feeling tired, and his age was not helping him to bear the journey. Hexilda was muttering under her breath. She was aware that the accursed ones of Némaldon would attack again at the slightest opportunity.

  Hiding Mérdmerén was her priority, and at the same time, she found herself wondering where her wish to protect him had come from. Whatever the case, she understood that if the demons from Némaldon were after him, it had to be for some good reason. And he had been about to be sacrificed in an appalling ritual. Of Mérdmerén, she only knew that he was a man seeking revenge, but clearly, there was something else. Who was this man?

  They did not stop to eat at all that day, as stopping meant tempting disaster. Still trotting, they shared the remains of horsemeat they still had, which, by now, were stiffer than leather under the sun.

  Mérdmerén’s horse tripped and tumbled forward, defeated. Mérdmerén had just enough time to dismount and avoid hurting himself in the fall. He took his canteen and gave the animal the last drops. Hell! There was no river or stream nearby, although it made no difference; the horse was already dying. Then he heard the whinnying of Ságamas and Hexilda’s horses as if death were contagious, and they too collapsed.

  “Bloody mermaid!” the sailor cried, looking at the sky. He was fed up with so many misfortunes with so much land far from the sea. “And now what?”

  The witch dismounted and started to sniff the area like a bloodhound. They were in a stretch of broken relief with rocks everywhere arranged as though they were in a labyrinth, and the only paths were the ones that nature allowed. Night had fallen, and the lack of light prevented the woman from identifying possible shelters in case of a skirmish.

  “Mérdmerén,” the witch said when she came back to the men and horses. “This is where our fate will be decided. This place is perfect for waiting for our enemies and eliminating them. Two groups are after us: one made up of accursed ones and the other of imbeciles. They’ll come from the south, I hope. If they circle us and came from the north, we’d be screwed because then we couldn’t count on the barrier made by these rocks.

  “It’s our chance, and the Gods have served it up to us on a platter. Come on, M�
�rdmerén, let’s think up a strategy.”

  Mérdmerén was listening to her, but he was now absorbed in comforting his horse that went on looking into his eyes as if an invisible bridge were keeping it alive.

  “There!” the old woman roared. “They’re coming! There must be about twenty of them! And all on horseback!”

  The woman grasped her staff tight. The trace of a strange smile touched her face. Seeing her, Mérdmerén shivered, and he was glad that she was on his side and not that of the enemy. A black arrow flew over the witch’s head, making her hair stand on end and leaving a poisonous wake behind it. It was the thugs of Némaldon.

  She began to murmur incomprehensible words and aim at the attackers with her staff. One, two, three beams of white energy shot out amid sparks. The enemies howled in pain, and soon, there was silence again. Everything seemed to be paralyzed.

  Mérdmerén heard a dim noise to the southeast. Silhouettes were already visible in the distance. The witch was sweating, and on her face was a mixture of rage, effort, and exhaustion. She released another beam, but two arrows crossed and tore away a piece of her ear. The arrow belonged to a soldier; she knew this because there was no poison on it. Mérdmerén looked for Ságamas. He was beside his horse, lost in thought.

  “Sailor, we’re under attack! Look lively, man! Or d’you want to die?”

  The man jumped with shock and picked up his spear. It was a pity he had neither bow nor arrows. He ran to take shelter with his companions. The witch was casting an incantation once more with the wyvern claw shining bright.

  The air thickened and a mist formed. The witch began to make wide gestures with her arms, spreading the fog toward the throng and making it denser and denser. She turned to the two men with a sly grin. “Stay very still. For the sake of your lives, don’t screw things up this time.”

  She ran off and disappeared into the fog. Mérdmerén wanted to go after her, but remembered her words and decided to follow her warning. He crouched beside Ságamas like mice hiding from a lurking snake. They heard noises. Screams.

  A couple of flashes burst out with a deafening din. Moans of agony. More shouts and screams, harsh orders that scratched the air roughly. The whistling of arrows and spears. From the dense darkness, a figure went by, quick as a lizard. It was Hexilda.

  “Off we go!” she said, panting. “The fools have fallen into the trap, and now they’re fighting each other!”

  She was limping. There was a black arrow through her right leg, with a black fluid dripping from it. Mérdmerén took a good look at the woman and saw the despairing gaze of one who knows she has only a few more hours to live.

  “Horses!” cried the sailor, pointing at a group of animals running free, riderless. Ságamas managed to catch one of them. Mérdmerén ran and seized another two. They mounted without wasting a moment and rode off. The sound of death followed them for a while until silence devoured them once again.

  Chapter XXVII – When the Dead Walk

  They had not ridden far when Hexilda fell off her horse onto her arm, which was left twisted at a sinister angle. A thread of blood was running down her forehead.

  “Over there!” cried Mérdmerén. There was a cave nearby. He slung the woman onto his horse and Ságamas followed, leading the riderless horse.

  The cave was not deep. It would shelter them from the sun, the wind, or a storm, but not from their enemies. The darkness was almost complete, but they could see the irregular walls, the moss on the rock, the stalactites hanging from the ceiling, and the floor of stone and dust.

  They made the witch as comfortable as possible. She was losing blood, and her wounded leg looked ugly. She was clinging to her staff with its wyvern claw that gave out a vague brightness. She was muttering under her breath. She opened her eyes, paralyzed by terror.

  She grabbed Mérdmerén by his dirty armor that had once looked like that of a noble and pulled him toward her. “I’m going to give you something, and you must swear that you’ll always carry it with you and that you’ll respect it more than your mother. It’s the wyvern claw. I’ll make it into a talisman for you, which will protect you against the Black Arts. You’ll be invisible to them, but if you let it go, you’ll be revealed. Do you understand?”

  Mérdmerén nodded. He felt like crying, releasing the frustration, the exhaustion, and the disappointment of a trip that was not going as he had imagined. He wished he knew, as Innonimatus did, the combinations of herbs that would let him prepare an ointment to heal the witch.

  She took off a necklace where a locket hung in place. She took the locket and set it aside on the ground. She then cast the spell. A purple light issued from the wyvern claw in a swirling of two beams. The witch was reciting a spell with the little strength she had left. Then, the claw started to shrink until it was the size of a coin. She ran the small chain around the leather coin until she was sure it was locked in place.

  “Put it on,” she urged. “It will hide you from those murderers. Get to Háztatlon and warn them that the darkness is spreading. You’ve already seen it with your own eyes: the village, the sáffurtan, and the dead wandering about. The attack from Némaldon is imminent, and they’ve been preparing it ever since they brought the Master back to life.”

  The old woman’s eyes shone. “Now I understand why they want to kill you. You’re the messenger, the chosen, you’re Ehréledán! The one who bears the truth, the virtue. Run! They’re coming!”

  The sound of a stalking predator froze all three of them. It made a guttural noise and was sniffing to identify the origin of its prey. The ground echoed as if the earth was splitting open as it passed. Ságamas readied his spear, and Mérdmerén held the short sword in one hand and the dagger in the other. At the entrance of the cave, there loomed a body and that infernal noise.

  “The dead have come back to life!” the witch shrieked. “Kill the sáffurtan!”

  The living corpse turned toward the old woman. It was a soldier of the empire, brought back to life by the Black Arts.

  Mérdmerén leaped on it. He pierced it with his sword and cut the body in two. From the waist up, the soldier kept moving towards them with the same aim in mind.

  “The head! Cut off the head!” the woman cried.

  Mérdmerén decapitated the corpse and it lay still. He gasped with relief, more relaxed now until he saw at least thirty possessed corpses coming for them. Behind them, they could make out the figure of a hooded being. A second body entered the cave, and this time, the sailor buried his spear in its head. It was another soldier.

  Panting, Hexilda made an effort to get to her feet. She seized and made sure Mérdmerén was wearing the pendant with the coin—the talisman. When she proved it, she then took the locket in her hands. She opened it. Inside was a portrait of her son, Trágalar Maximus. She raised it to her breast as if she wanted to rock it and sobbed in silence.

  “Run, you fools!” she ordered them, cold-eyed.

  She stood up and turned toward the army of the dead to expose herself to it. The corpses went for her, hunger in their jaws.

  On that night of tears and mourning, the messengers fled on their horses, galloping to get away from their enemies. Mérdmerén’s talisman bounced against his chest and reminded him that the witch’s death had been his salvation. He would never forget it.

  Never.

  Chapter XXVIII – Stern’s Dagger

  The following day dawned with the same general mood as the travelers: overcast, heavy, and cold. Mourning, fatigue, and haste were taking their toll on them. The two men had lost a lot of weight, and new wrinkles marked their faces.

  These were the consequences of a mission under a curse. Through the foliage, they saw a town. It appeared tidy and well-organized. They approached the sentry box, hiding their feelings as best they could. They had cleaned their armor, but it was unpolished and still smeared with mud and blood.

  The watchmen stared at them warily. Their armor was made of tanned leather, and they bore long swords with wid
e pommels. They were big men, but their lack of experience was noticeable.

  “Good evening, where might you be going?”

  It was also obvious that they lived a quiet, enjoyable life. Certainly, they had no conception of the terrors which were spreading across the South. Next to the guard, Mérdmerén saw a package with the name of a hotel.

  “To the Field Villas Hotel.”

  “Is he with you?” The soldier indicated Ságamas.

  “That’s right, sir. We’ve come for a bit of a rest. We’re a couple of traders on a business trip.”

  “Of course. In the North, there are good businesses. Here, we work a lot harder than in the South. If it weren’t for us, the Empire would go down the drain.” The guard did not hide his pride as a Northerner. “Had troubles on your way, my lords?” asked the guard, eying their blood-stained armor and leather.

  “Indeed. Deserters,” said Mérdmerén.

  “I’ve heard from many a traveler that deserters are migrating to the North. Must be related to the ill news heard from the South,” assured the guard.

  Ságamas and Mérdmerén nodded.

  “What’s the name of this town?” Mérdmerén asked.

  “Nabas. One day, we’ll be an important city in the North. We produce very fine metal armor of excellent strength. One day, we’ll be as splendid as the cities of Omen or Démanon.”

  The guard’s pride did not bother Mérdmerén. He wished the people of the South were equally passionate. He smiled, and the watchman returned the gesture.

  “Welcome to Nabas, my lords. You may pass freely.”

  “Many thanks.” Mérdmerén went on with Ságamas following him, smiling falsely and making a great effort to hide his unease. It was not difficult to find the Field Villas Hotel. They requested two rooms.

  They did not care anymore whether the demons, the soldiers, or whoever else caught them unawares during the night. They had enough, and they needed a rest. In the solitude of their rooms, the men sank into their thoughts.