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

  “Yes! That was funny! And the day we threw eggs at the carrot vendor?”

  “That’s right! We were a couple of real bandits!” the boy said, and they both laughed.

  “Come on, Luchy! It’ll be a grand adventure, I swear. Besides, we might learn a lot from this Balthazar. And you know how much everything to do with my grandfather means to me.”

  ***

  Getting to the Central Park was not easy, but it made an exciting start for the adventure. They had climbed as stowaways on to the cart of a rancher called Lombardo. Riding his horse Marlo, he was singing a song the two kids thought pretty corny.

  The coffee-brown horse of the stable,

  whose name’s always on my lips,

  he’s always so strong and so able,

  as down the street he trips.

  The coffee-brown horse of the stable ‒

  He’s Marlo, they say as I ride ‒

  he gallops, so gallant and able,

  carrying seed in the bags by his side.

  Coffee-brown horse of the Zapotillo,

  you were born a foal fair and fine.

  Now you reach your destination with brio,

  my little horse, you’re divine.

  Once they reached the village they both got down from the cart and ran in the direction of the Central Market. The first thing Manchego did was to kneel before the deity of light, Alac Arc Angelo. Luchy followed his example. And like them, others began to pray to the god. In spite of the rumors, many still showed respect for him and offered prayers to the goddess of night, D’Santhes Nathor, so that Alac Arc might be safe. “It’s so strange, praying to a dead god…” Luchy said.

  “Don’t say that. You know it’s a sin to speak like that,” Manchego shot back.

  They walked toward the shop The Shepherd of Shepherds in the hope of finding Balthazar there.

  “But you can’t deny the fact that it’s weird to pray to a god when nobody knows where he is, or even if he’s still alive,” insisted Luchy.

  “Don’t be so literal-minded. The important thing is to pray to him. We pray to the gods of earth, water, night and fire, too. Do you think there are more gods?”

  Several deputies of Mayor Feliel’s government were handing out leaflets. Manchego took one angrily, and the deputy glared at him. It was to publicize the social reform the mayor was planning. “Always promising everything,” said Luchy. “Only so as to stay in power and manage politics the way he wants. I’ve never quite trusted Feliel.”

  “That’s true,” Manchego agreed. “My grandmother says the monarchy of the empire is good for nothing, that it’s all for show.” He tore up the leaflet and dropped the pieces on the ground.

  The smells of the market invaded the children’s senses. Fresh and rotten meat, fish past its prime, mint, cumin, a range of spices. The variety of goods, including swords, shields, axes, coats of mail, caught Manchego’s gaze, and once again he felt the temptation to enlist in the militia and get away from the village. For a moment he dreamt he was welcome in the House of Thorén and that he met the nobleman’s beautiful daughters. But Manchego was aware it was just a dream. “It could be that there are more gods, but we don’t believe in them,” he said, touching a dead octopus’s tentacle. “You know very well that in the empire we believe in the five deities, and they’re the most important ones. Or at least that’s what my grandmother says, and she goes to church.”

  “Yeah… but I like to think there are other gods…. Like the goddess of beauty!” Luchy wrapped a magenta scarf around her head. “Five crowns or nothing!” the vendor shouted at her. “Little rascal!”

  The children ran away giggling, happy to be together the way they had been before. Soon they reached Balthazar’s shop. Inside was the old man with golden skin and sky-blue eyes, sitting on a wooden stool, his gaze distant.

  “Hello!” Luchy greeted him.

  The Wild Man started and pulled an axe with a gleaming blade out of his waistband. He opened his eyes wide and clenched his jaw. Luchy hid behind Manchego, who raised his arms in front of him protectively. “No! No! We’re sorry! We didn’t mean to drag you out of your… thoughts.”

  The Wild Man relaxed and returned his weapon to his waist. “That was reckless of you. I’ve killed deserters and thieves who were trying to catch me unawares. Don’t be stupid,” he snorted. His sky-blue eyes studied Manchego; he seemed to be able to read him to perfection. “What do you want?”

  The young shepherd began to be nervous. “I want you to show me how to be a great farmer,” he stammered.

  “Farmer?”

  “Yes! Lulita said you were a farmer and that you worked with Eromes!” Luchy shouted, and took shelter once again behind Manchego. The Wild Man started again, this time with sadness. “Then Doña Lulita has mentioned my name again, after so many years of hatred…”

  “So it’s true?” Manchego said, not understanding the reply. “You worked for my grandfather?”

  “Your grandfather… he was a great person. Maybe the best I’ve ever known. Thanks to him I’m still alive. I was banished, nobody gave me shelter or hope… until I met him.” He bowed his head. The children looked at the man, his sculpted torso with its well-defined muscles, the tattoo across his chest like the scratch of a beast. He seemed someone broken by life, for all his physical strength.

  Manchego broke the silence. “And… can you teach me?” He bit his tongue as if he had uttered words of fire.

  The Wild Man seemed to ponder this for a moment which to Manchego seemed eternal.

  “Of course I will,” he replied at last. “If I owe your grandfather anything, it’s to train his heir: you. That will be my task. That will be my promise. I’ve lost everything, I own nothing in this life, but now I’ve found a purpose. I’m at your service.”

  “That’s wonderful!” cried the boy. The people around turned to look at him scornfully. Luchy kissed him on the cheek. Manchego blushed, still ignorant of the rigors that awaited him.

  The Wild Man whipped out his axe like lightning and aimed its edge at him. “You’ll suffer, you’ll sweat as you never have before, but you’ll grow and then you’ll be the best rancher of all times. To work!”

  Manchego paled. The edge of the axe was so close to his face that he could see himself reflected in the blade. “I’ll do my best to be the best pupil.”

  “So be it. You, girl, you’re witness to the pact we’re going to seal with blood.”

  The Wild Man cut the palm of his hand with the weapon, and drops of bright red fell heavily on to the floor. Then he handed the axe to the young man, who took it apprehensively. The weapon was so heavy he could barely hold it with both arms. He turned to look at Balthazar, who nodded his approval, and it was then that the boy understood that he too had to cut his hand to seal the pact.

  He had never cut himself deliberately before, and to him it seemed a rather stupid thing to do. He put his right hand to the axe and made a tiny groove. “Ouch! It’s sharp!” cried the boy. He had barely touched the edge, and it had cut him. Hopefully Lulita would not find out.

  The Wild Man offered him his own bloodied hand, and Manchego took it. The blood pact was sealed.

  “It’s done. Mother and the girl are witnesses. From now on you’re my pupil.”

  Manchego swallowed. What is signed with blood, not even blood can undo.

  Chapter VIII – Natura naturans

  The hours went by. The days went by. The weeks. The months. Manchego was getting a training worthy of a son of the Mother of the Wild Lands, suffering the worst rigors he had ever imagined. Lula did not know of the pact, nor was she aware of the training, as it was carried out in the furthest area of the ranch, where the obstacles were great and the hours of labor intense. Manchego and Luchy saw each other less and less, there were just not enough hours. But they made the effort to meet once a week, mostly at night, when the boy was exhausted by the day’s exercise.

  “What is it you’re doing to end up this way, sunshin
e?” Lula would ask. The friends kept silent, taking advantage of the fact that their mouths were full of dinner. Luchy was eating with them that night, one of the few times when they shared a meal.

  “I have to be the best, grandma, and I’ll only manage that by working hard,” Manchego said. “I’m the heir to this ranch, and I won’t rest until I’m as good as my grandfather.”

  Luchy smiled silently, her mischievous gaze unable to hide the fact that they were hiding the truth about Manchego’s training from the grandmother.

  The old woman smiled, although inwardly she was worried about the boy. At the tender age of thirteen, the lad already showed the marks of a whole life burdened with suffering.

  ***

  In this way three months went by, which seemed an eternity to Manchego. He got up at dawn, watched the sunrise, then devoted the rest of the day to tilling the land. He barely had time for lunch. He barely managed to greet Luchy when she came to meet him.

  At dinner-time he went over Balthazar’s teachings, in silence, worn out by the effort, and when he had finished his meal he went straight to sleep.

  Soon the boy showed a great physical change, especially in his arms and chest, which were beginning to take on shape under the cotton shirts. He himself noticed the difference when he undressed and also in the looks he got from other people, not only his grandmother and his master. One day, when the sweat was annoying him and he changed his shirt, Luchy was caught spellbound, admiring his muscles.

  In this new routine, though, what did not change were his dreams. He saw himself dragged by giant spirals with thousands of dots, sometimes huge red orbs which gave out a radiant energy. Sometimes he witnessed the punishment a shadowy being inflicted upon an angel; at other times, five dragons rose at the call of an all-powerful being.

  One evening, at dusk, the master decided to intervene. For some time he had noticed that the boy looked dazed. “Is there anything wrong, my dear pupil?” After so much time together Balthazar had grown fond of him.

  “It’s this thing I can’t manage to pin down,” the boy said in a dark voice. “No… I don’t know! And it’s so frustrating, not knowing!” he roared. “It’s as if I wanted to run away and forget everything, or go to the House of Thorén and become a soldier.”

  The boy rammed the spade into the earth. His face was a mask of contained fury, as if a dam were holding him back.

  Balthazar recognized what Manchego was going through, because it had happened to him too when the Mother was training him to become the future alpha male of the clan. “Don’t give up, Manchego, be patient. We’re on the brink of getting our first harvest. You’ll soon see the fruits of your labours.”

  Manchego remained thoughtful. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but… I just don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

  Balthazar put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Easy, easy. Ask your essence what’s going on.”

  Manchego took a few moments to meditate, and knew what was happening to him.

  “It’s just … just that I feel lonely,” he said, and sighed in frustration. “I’ve never felt so abandoned. I’ve barely begun to train to be a great rancher and already I feel so isolated, so remote from the world. I think I’m no longer the boy I was, that I’m going through my adolescence without noticing, busy with so much work. The others, Findus or Dario, they don’t seem to suffer this way. Why did this have to happen to me?”

  “Stay calm,” his master said. “Let me tell you something.”

  The apricot light of the evening fell on the chest and square face of the Wild Man, who was observing Manchego with his sky-blue eyes. “You aren’t the first who’s had to sacrifice himself for his craft, or his duty. When you work, you learn that everything has a price, and that sometimes that price is not to be paid in money. In exchange for becoming a rancher, you have to pay the price of spending less time with your friends and family. Life teaches you that you can’t do everything, that at times you have to choose, and that’s why you must stay alert. You’ll learn from your mistakes and your virtues when you have to make decisions, and in time you’ll find out whether they were right or not. Life is like that, my dear pupil.”

  The Wild Man went back in time to his past, when he made the decision to betray Mother. I chose my way, and now I learn from my mistakes.

  “It’s important that you should learn to let go of everything that is outside you,” Balthazar went on.

  Manchego was confused. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I mean everything which is not you: your grandmother, the ranch, Rufus, Ounces, Luchy. One day you might find yourself in complete solitude. Then you must remember who you are, not identify yourself with other beings or other things which are outside you. You must search for the strength within you.”

  Manchego remained thoughtful for a moment. “So do I have to let go of everything external, even if it makes me happy?”

  “That’s so.”

  “With the aim of being independent…” Manchego understood. “So that if one day I find myself alone, I won’t be dependent on anybody but myself.”

  “Exactly,” Balthazar said. “Only in solitude can you come to find yourself. In solitude you learn to let go of all that is not you, so that you may be your own companion, someone who will never abandon you. To sum up: you must become the best friend you ever wished for.”

  Manchego felt a tremendous chill at imagining himself alone. An icy wind blew. The moon rose, and with her the entourage of stars which scintillated in their eternal disintegration.

  ***

  That night he dreamt again, but not about lights and battles. Strangely, Balthazar was in his dream, watching him with a calculating gaze. The master snapped his fingers, and at once they were transported to a range of high mountains, Balthazar atop the tip of one rock, Manchego sitting on another.

  The wind whipped at them, threatening to hurl them into the abyss of rocks sharp as swords. Manchego did not want to stand up, he felt he would lose his balance. He looked out at the abyss. The bottom was invisible, hidden beneath a thick mist. Balthazar on the other hand remained unruffled, motionless on his rocky summit, which was the width of his shoes. “Try to stand up. Look me in the eye as you try.”

  The pupil tried to get to his feet several times. As soon as he saw the precipice and anticipated the fall, he sat down again.

  “What’s the problem?” Balthazar asked him serenely.

  “I can’t! I lose my balance!”

  “Who can’t?”

  “Me!” Manchego cried, filled with terror.

  “Who loses his balance?”

  “I do! I can’t control myself!”

  “Who can’t control himself?”

  “Me! I can’t manage to control myself!”

  “Isn’t it obvious, what you have to do?”

  “No! I don’t know what I have to do!”

  “To gain freedom means freeing yourself from your own self.”

  Manchego was left stunned, as if he had been turned into a wooden doll. He did not think, did not feel, was not aware of himself. He only flowed, and without being aware of it got to his feet, looked into Balthazar’s eyes.

  “That’s my pupil. Awareness of the ego is an obstacle when it comes to taking action. Eliminate the ego from your mind and you will attain complete enlightenment. Oneself is the greatest limitation to be found. Never forget that.”

  Balthazar raised his eyes to the sky, spread his arms like wings and let himself fall backwards. In seconds, he disappeared in the mist. Manchego understood that he must follow him. He looked up at the sky, spread his arms, then when he was about to let himself fall, something held him back. “Don’t do it,” his mind told him. “You’ll hurt yourself.” He had to free himself from his own self, the master had told him. He quieted his mind and let himself fall.

  He appeared on a beach where the sea broke against a cliff. Baltha
zar was gazing at the horizon with his hands behind his back, silently contemplating the explosion of water, salt and wind. “The seas flow harmoniously. The winds over the seas also flow, but with a different rhythm. The clouds, rocked by the wind, flow above the sea. They all have something in common: they flow, because they are made of the same substance. In nature all is dynamic and nothing is static. What is static soon perishes, so any static thought will also perish.

  “Man in solitude finds himself in a serious conflict. We realize that our minds do not flow like the rest of the natural world. You must long to flow in that way, and then everything will unify itself harmoniously. This is the most valuable lesson of our Mother, our creator, the goddess of the Wild Men. Mother is everything. And you must make yourself into a part of everything in order to be nothing… to be everything… eternity.”

  The young shepherd understood. He no longer felt fear, nor was he threatened by the violence of the waves. He admired the landscape of gray clouds which blotched the sky.

  “Come. There is something I must show you,” Balthazar said.

  The master turned round. In one hand he now held a brush made from a horse’s tail. He looked at the horizon and began to paint a new landscape. Hundreds of colors burst out like lava from a volcano.

  When the painting was done, master and pupil took a few steps back to get a better view of it. It was a scene whose light was the color of wheat; the field of spikes swayed in the wind.

  “Art is the highest form of expression of the soul, which offers its produce. Never forget this: an artist’s expression is his soul made manifest, confronting both his learning and his ego. In each brushstroke, each stanza, each note, each bodily movement, the music of the soul is made tangible to the world.”

  ***