The Sacrifice (The War of the Gods Book 1) Read online

  “Manchego, son of …” The boy interrupted himself, he did not know who his parents were. “From the Holy Comment Ranch, grandson of Eromes the Perpetuator and of Lulita.”

  Savarb’s eyes lit up.

  “What an honor to meet the grandson of the great Eromes. But there’s no time for compliments, my lord. This war is merciless, and just like us, you run the risk of losing your life. There’s only time for fleeing and fighting.”

  Savarb began to give orders. “I need an escort to defend señor Manchego, fine warrior of the lineage of Eromes the Perpetuator! Any volunteers?”

  Two men stepped forward, one of them came to Manchego’s side. “I was a client of your grandfather’s. Together we planted the fields and took care of the ranches. I’ll fight beside you, señor Manchego.”

  The other volunteer was a boy of no more than fifteen. “I know doña Lulita of the Holy Comment Ranch. My name is Maslon, I’m at your service.”

  One by one eleven men joined them, with dirty faces and badly-trimmed beards. Except for one, hidden beneath a cloak that covered him from head to toe. “The rest of you, go back to the fort and spread the word that I’ll be back soon!” Savarb came closer to Manchego. “Are you sure you want to go with just a machete for a weapon?”

  “I lost my sword when the fermented lard bomb went off,” Manchego lied.

  “Take this sword.” The man offered him the weapon, then un-slung the bow he carried on his shoulder and prepared his arrows. “We’ll climb up to the roofs, then we’ll attack the soldiers from there. A hand-to-hand battle would be suicide. May the gods go with you! We’ll pray to the god of light to protect you from the darkness.”

  The captain divided his men into two groups of six and ordered them to start climbing onto the roofs on either side of the street. The volunteers mounted their horses, except for the one hiding under the cloak. The Captain scolded him: “What d’you think you’re doing? You can’t go on foot, it’s very dangerous!”

  The mysterious man did not move.

  “Do whatever you want,” the Captain said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”

  The man was mumbling something, like a song. “Sun little sun…”

  Manchego started Sureña, who promptly broke into a canter. The strange man ran after him, without missing a breath. From afar came whistles and the clamor of boots on the cobbles. A spear flew near his head.

  Night was falling, but that did not stop the Army. A group of soldiers had formed in front of him to stop his way. Their spears were ready, aimed at the horse’s chest. A fury of flames and an explosion engulfed the soldiers. Manchego passed over the bodies, amid cries of pain and defeat. The mare stopped in the center of the battle; she was trampling skulls and ribs. Manchego brandished his sword, but it was very heavy for him and barely inflicted any harm on the enemy.

  The one who wielded his sword with absolute ease was the mysterious man. With movements both precise and elegant, he sliced off arms and legs, helmets and breasts, severed heads. He showed no signs of tiredness.

  “My lord!” cried Savarb from a roof-terrace. “You get away and don’t hold back! Another horde of soldiers is already on its way! Go on, and good luck!”

  Manchego urged Sureña on and soon left behind all the noise of the battle, which came to him in ever-more-distant echoes.

  When they reached their destination, Sureña stopped abruptly. The atmosphere was dim. It was the shadow. Manchego dismounted and tried to hold the mare, but the animal had made another decision. With a sharp twist, she galloped back the way they had come. Manchego, powerless, could only watch his mare abandoning him as fast as she could.

  He felt a pain deep down in his chest: why had he had to leave the ranch on this foolish adventure? All the same, he was determined to go on. He heard a noise behind him.

  The young shepherd turned, with the sword in his hands.

  “Solemn sun, calming fires… Solace sun, innocent forges… Sol solacium, beardless and alluring… Sun solanum, carry me in your hand.”

  The mysterious man pushed back his cloak and revealed his face. It was Mowriz, unmistakably, but he did not look as he usually did: he was paler and his eyes looked like those of a dead man. He knelt before Manchego. He repeated his words, again and again, like one possessed.

  Manchego took a step back in terror. Mowriz was surely coming to take revenge… or not?

  “What do you want? Have you come to give me a beating?”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  Manchego grew impatient. “Were you in my bedroom last night?”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  The boy tightened his grip on the sword, his impatience growing toward the edge of violence. He was trying to make out any sign of a teasing smile, some gesture that would give away his intentions. “Stop it! It’s not funny, Mowriz.”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  It was strange to talk like this to someone who had bullied him for so long. “I said stop it!” Manchego cried.

  Mowriz stood up immediately. The young shepherd stepped back, with the sword at the level of his face, expecting the worst. But nothing happened. His eternal enemy remained standing, his eyes piercing the ground.

  Manchego became calmer. “What’s the matter with you? Do you really think I’m going to believe you’re on my side?”

  “Sun, little sun…” he replied in a dead voice.

  Manchego grew angry. “That’s enough! What’s up with you?”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “Shut up!”

  Mowriz obeyed.

  “Speak, you bastard! What do you want of me?”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “Tell me!”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “That’s quite enough of that! Tell me!”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  Manchego lost his patience and pushed Malabrad with all his might. He fell to the ground without any show of emotion, got to his feet as if nothing had happened and repeated his chant:

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  Manchego felt something strange growing inside him. “I’ll give you a good beating if you go on like this, Mowriz! This isn’t funny anymore!”

  Mowriz took his own sword and offered it to Manchego.

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “I don’t want your sword, you reptile! Tell me!”

  Mowriz put it away and said again: “Sun, little sun…”

  Manchego was on the verge of exploding. “Shut up, you swine!”

  He was treating Mowriz as the other boy had previously treated him at school. He felt bad when he realized that he was the violent one now. But he was unable to stop. He was blinded by fury, by the longing to taste sweet revenge against the swine who had made his life impossible at school.

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “I told you to shut up, you filthy rat!” Manchego punched him in the nose. Black blood dripped down his dying lips.

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “Shut up, damn you!” He kicked him in the stomach. Mowriz did not flinch. He was hard as stone.

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “Go to hell!”

  Manchego gave up. He had never felt such despair, such a wish to cause pain. Maybe the war, his mission, were changing him… for good or ill.

  Chapter XV - The haunted house

  He follows my orders to the letter… Has my tormentor become my servant? the shepherd thought in astonishment. He had told his worst enemy to go to hell and now here he was walking toward the shadow.

  He decided to follow him; the only explanation he could think of was that Mowriz was acting as his personal escort. Besi
des, walking in front of him he would serve as a shield for whatever it was they had to face. Manchego looked around, paranoid. Something lurked in that gelatinous shadow.

  A terrible foreboding ran along his spine. The shadow was nearly opaque, he could see nothing more than a few yards ahead. The houses by the sides faded. Where had they gotten into? Manchego was sure this was the same shadow which had occupied Ramancia’s house and then his own. Something moved, perhaps alerted by the presence of the two boys.

  Mowriz unsheathed his sword and went on fearlessly, without taking a single step back. An object flew through the air, almost hitting Manchego on the head. It fell at his feet after bouncing on a wall. The boy stifled a cry: it was a decapitated head.

  Like a ghost, limping but rapid, there appeared a monster with several arms, legs and heads, as if the beast were made up of several different mutilated men.

  Manchego reacted, emitting a pulse of white light which goaded Mowriz to a bellicose frenzy so that he hurled himself at the monster. Mowriz’s sword dealt accurate blows, while the beast attacked with its numerous limbs and tried to bite him with its mouths.

  It took Mowriz by the arm and began to shake him, like a dog with its prey. The monster released him, and Mowriz’s body fell on to the cobblestones. Manchego knew that his time had come, and in spite of his fear, he raised this sword.

  He knew that mere metal was not an effective barrier against that thing, and suddenly a thought came to him. He put his hand in his pocket and squeezed the Teitú nut. Another pulse of invisible light flashed toward Mowriz, and at the moment it enveloped him the boy got back to his feet, ready to fight again. He thrust his sword into the monster’s heart.

  The beast howled and collapsed, fragmented into several separate corpses. An evil spirit slipped away; it must have been the energy which moved the thing. Manchego blinked. It was all hard to believe, a dream, a nightmare. The shadow was still there, enveloping them. Mowriz, indefatigable, set off again towards Ramancia’s house with Manchego behind him, alert to every movement, every whisper.

  He took a good look at his slave. His shoulder was no longer bleeding where his arm had been torn off, and the wound appeared dark and dead. When they came to Ramancia’s door, Manchego ordered Mowriz to open it. He remembered the nightmare, the arrow which had ended his life, and moved away from the entrance. The bewitched boy tried to follow the order, but the door was firmly sealed.

  “Wait,” Manchego said. “There’s another entrance at the back. Follow me.”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  They reached the wooden wall, but there was no trace of the hole. It had to be there, he recalled it perfectly… He searched, and before his eyes, in one of the boards a hole opened. It all seemed part of a plan, but who was pulling the strings?

  Once he was in the corridor, Manchego turned toward the secret door.

  ***

  He went to the corner and into a long room, with two armchairs covered with black blankets. It was there, he remembered, that he had seen Ramancia and the hooded figure, the one who had pointed a finger at him.

  On the left-hand wall hung a picture. It was a portrait of Ramancia in her youth, blended with the image of a black goat. The result was delirious.

  “Keep close to me in case there’s any danger,” he ordered Mowriz. “If there is, don’t hang about and deal with the problem. Without making any noise!”

  He still felt strange, having this power over the one responsible for the torment he had suffered for so many years, but now was not the time to question these things. He had to go on and get to the core of the mystery.

  “Sun, little sun…”

  In front of the armchairs was a circle six feet or so wide, drawn perhaps with a pumice stone. Inside that circle was another, and inside that an equilateral triangle with a cross in the middle and three circles crowning each of the corners of the triangle. Manchego did not know the meaning, but sensed that those symbols were evil and that the Décamon would not approve of them. What could they be for?

  They went on, over the rune, and at the end of the room they came to a pair of black marble sculptures. The figures protected the access to a staircase which spiraled down. Manchego and his slave began to go down the steps, which seemed to be made of the same black marble as the statues. At each step the sculptures gave out a strange noise, like an internal echo.

  The further down he went, the lighter Manchego felt, he seemed to be levitating over the marble. And then suddenly the stairs vanished. He was floating in a void with stars and other heavenly bodies around him. It was an awe-inspiring phenomenon, very like the dreams he had had since childhood. Fear struck him when he became aware that he was running out of air. But not very far away a room became visible.

  He moved his arms and legs in that direction, as fast as he could, with Mowriz following his steps faithfully. He landed on a stone floor. He breathed in deeply, thankful to be able to fill his lungs once again. He looked back; the void was still there, together with the staircase of black steps.

  This reality was unusual, but by now he was no longer surprised; too many strange things had happened to him in a very short time. He was aware that when it was all over he would have to check the state of his soul, which would inevitably end up soiled. The new room was vast.

  Floor, walls and ceiling were built from large stones, perhaps a stride in length and width, their surface irregular and rough, with marks of erosion and scratches as from dragging furniture. A giant lamp, of rusted bronze, hung in the center of the room. Its multiple arms held candelabra at their ends. It looked like a spider. Mowriz did not move; nothing caught his attention.

  The walls were covered with the evil runes: circles which surrounded the triangles with spheres at each angle, cubes with six-pointed stars in the center, half-moons with inverted crosses also in the center. Manchego preferred not to dwell too much on these designs and their possible meaning.

  They went on toward the only visible door, which was open. It was the same grille of iron bars he had seen in his dreams.

  “Sun, little sun…” his enemy, his guard, his companion, kept repeating. The shepherd did not know what title to bestow on him. They went through the gate and came into a corridor with five doors on either side. Beside each door, long-armed candelabras that reached Manchego’s chest held lighted candles whose flames danced to the sound of a mystical music. At the end of the dimly-lit corridor was another grille, closed.

  Manchego walked fearfully. He sensed that behind each door was a ghostly presence hanging on his every step. Mowriz followed him with an expression something between frustrated and happy. He did not seem troubled at having ended up with one arm less.

  In his right hand he held his sword, ready to protect his master. They reached the grille. Through the bars, Manchego saw another spacious square room, similar to the first one. Something unusual was awaiting him there. In the center was a stump placed to serve as a seat, no more than half a stride in width.

  Manchego tried to open the gate with all his might, but it was useless. Mowriz stepped forward and tried in his turn. The gate did not yield.

  “Sun, little sun…”

  Manchego was about to complain about this endless chanting when the gate moved. It rose a few inches. Manchego understood the relationship and urged his slave:

  “Sing that song!”

  “Solemn sun, calming fires… Solace sun, innocent forges… Sun solacium, beardless and alluring… Sun solanum, carry me in your hand.”

  Those words were the key to the rusty cogwheels, which began to screech as the barrier rose. So the song is a spell, the boy thought. What can Ramancia have planned…?

  Manchego and Mowirz went into the chamber, which was cold and smelt of rust. Unlike the previous hall, this one showed no signs of wear on floor or walls, it seemed recently built. Nor were there any runes. He went to the stump. Waiting for him was a little box, a long rod of solid wood, and a note that re
ad:

  Solemn sun, calming fires…

  Solace sun, innocent forges…

  Sun solacium, beardless and alluring…

  Sun solanum, carry me in your hand.

  What the hell am I supposed to do here? Surely it can’t be the end. Something’s still calling me and I have to find it. The mirror… it must be a riddle. It’s another of Ramancia’s tricks, the boy thought as he studied his surroundings thoughtfully.

  When he picked up the box, Manchego felt a depression in the shape of a funnel.

  “Sun, little sun…” Mowriz intoned, in an echo of his master’s frustration.

  “How I hate riddles! Sun little sun… What does it mean? It might mean the sun itself, but here there’s no sun, there are no windows and what’s more, it’s nighttime. It has to be something else…Hmmm… What do we do to find a “sun little sun”? Mowriz, what do you think?”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “Yes, yes, sun little sun. I don’t even know why I bother asking…The solution has to be in this room, if not, we wouldn’t have been brought here, don’t you agree? You don’t say anything except “sun little sun”, so you must know what it means.” Manchego scratched his head.

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “I don’t know why you go on repeating that. Make yourself useful and check the whole room. We’ve got to find some clues,” Manchego said, mostly because he wanted to be alone, and think. What was more, being so near Mowriz, in this dying state, made him feel uncomfortable. The slave did as he was told. He sheathed his sword and began to sniff around like a bloodhound. Ideas thronged Manchego’s mind suddenly. Perhaps Mowriz had the key to the riddle. He thought of a plan: “Sing the song!” he cried to the living corpse.

  Mowriz got to his feet at once and recited the chant. Manchego mused over the words. Maybe it was a door or a path which would reveal itself gradually. But nothing happened. Mowriz stood his ground, awaiting orders.

  “Keep looking. ‘Sun little sun?’ How so?” Manchego folded his arms. “It can’t mean the sun, because…. because it just can’t! It doesn’t sound logical! It has to be something in this hall, or the next one. Something with properties similar to the sun… What are the sun’s properties? It shines. It gives warmth. It burns. Fire?”