Chapter 66
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 66
Chapter Title: The Wandering Spaniard
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< The Wandering Spaniard >
"You, de, de...mon..."
His voice lacked any strength.
"Go... go away..."
There was no conviction in his eyes.
He trembled all over, gazing reverently at the being before him.
The truth reflected in his eyes.
A man stood there.
No, a man? Could anyone assign him a human gender? Could anyone give him a human name?
He was not human.
He was clearly a demon... or...
...or...
Asuero couldn't bear to hold that truth in his mind. He trembled violently as fear and torment—squeezing his soul—resurfaced amid the throbbing pain of his flesh.
Only now did the thoughts he'd shoved aside bob up lightly.
How on earth?
How did he know?
How had 'he' uncovered Asuero's past and exposed the secrets Asuero had buried?
...No.
That was another foolish question.
The real question—the vital one—was this:
What was this mysterious being standing before Asuero's eyes?
One who rose from death.
One who pierced human sin.
Sin.
...My sin.
"..."
Asuero fell silent.
Asuero could only fall silent. There was nothing left he could do.
The 'Indian Emperor' before him was a demon... or an angel.
And demon or angel, it made no difference.
He had come for him.
He knew his sins.
He had pierced his soul.
He belonged to him.
Asuero thought this and burst into sobs.
"Yo, you..."
Sobbing, he murmured without thinking.
"...A, a demon?"
And there Asuero's thoughts halted.
This was a question... but not a question.
It was self-deception.
Asuero already knew what the figure was. It couldn't be a demon.
Yet he wanted to ask—just once more.
"What... are you...?"
That you unearth my sins?
Proclaim my punishment?
He answered.
"Nemo."
One who was nothing before infinite, radiant glory.
One who stood at the foot of the throne, beside the Lord of All Things.
One thus bathed in that halo.
He was...
"No, no. No. No. No, no!"
He was a demon.
"You, you're—you're a demon! A demon...! You're a demon...!"
He served the Lord, yet he was a demon.
He was holy beyond doubt. Yet he was a demon.
He couldn't be a demon. Therefore, he was one.
Impossible thoughts connected; unbearable shocks battered his soul.
His reason melted away, bit by bit.
"From the de...mon... must es...cape..."
Yes. A demon.
He had to flee before this Lord-serving demon brought divine retribution on the wicked.
Me? Wicked? Impossible. But demons punish the wicked—and I'm wicked—so flee.
Tormenting slaves is a grave sin. But that's all I've done! I've sinned, so no punishment! Because I'm wicked! The Lord loves the wicked, demons love the righteous, demons created all things, the Bible was penned by demons...
The sea surged upward, the sky plummeted down. Stars swam like fish; fish gleamed like stars.
In this twisted world, he staggered to his feet.
As he crawled on all fours from the room, footsteps echoed behind: thud, thud. No. Demon steps. Flee. All fours should be twice as fast as two legs—yet somehow, escape was impossible.
Ah, right. He was a demon. Surely soaring on angelic wings sprouting from his back.
Then he too must stand. Because... humans walked on two legs, didn't they?
Asuero lurched up and bolted to the front door, hammering it. The steel wouldn't budge. Buttons pressed, levers yanked—miraculously, a beep, and it swung open.
Asuero squeezed through the gap, staggering into the devouring dark.
Am I... even walking right? The ground oozed like jelly.
Glancing skyward, clouds bared fangs, lunging to devour him. Terror hunched his back; he quickened his gait.
Turning, no angel—just hordes of black-skinned Moors charging him. All former slaves.
They howled: Torture him. As he tortured us, torture him.
More pursuers: Indians. Murmuring: Tear him limb from limb, mock him, defile him. As he rent our souls, mocked and defiled us—repay in kind.
Wails, chants, laments, sighs, tears, roars—all stabbed his ears.
Every soil he trod turned black charcoal. Horrific flames sprouted grass-like from it, searing his feet.
Mountains loomed as skull-towers; forests roiled like lava seas.
The angel—no, demon—no, angel's voice struck his chest like lightning.
Wings sprouted from the Indian Emperor—no, angel's shoulders. The angel's trident warped grotesquely, impaling him through.
Hallucination...? No, impossible.
Too agonizing.
"Ugh... uwaa... uw aaaa..."
Tears blurred the world gray and rainbow-streaked. Reality dissolved. He snagged on brush, tripped on rocks, slammed into trunks.
Still, he walked.
Demon—no, angel—angel... demon—angel pursued.
He had to flee.
Flee eternally.
He walked.
Clutching his half-maddened head, through the hazy haze.
The angel's voice rang endlessly in his skull.
His judgment approaches.
Fear.
Fear!
His cries upended mountains and rivers; his mad laughter boiled the seas.
Asuero Javier must flee. Forever. Walk without end.
Yet he'd never escape that angelic demon's grasp.
The world around... clamored.
The whole world seethed.
"..."
"..."
"..."
This place was silent. Tense with anticipation.
Eleanor and the soldiers at the farm gate gaped at the sight.
That monstrous killer—the brazen liar feigning virtue—reeled through the main gate.
Behind, from afar, He merely watched.
Asuero resembled a ghost more than man. Eyes darted wildly, chasing phantoms; body thrashed as if swimming shadows.
"Heh, Lo, doesn't die... I won't die... angel. Demon? Hell? Repent?"
He convulsed.
He watched impassively. Wordless.
Each time Asuero whirled to face Him, agony seized him—he clawed his hair, yanking clumps free. Electrocuted by the mere sight.
Perplexed soldiers, on guard, flung the gate wide at His signal.
Asuero lurched out, unfocused eyes, murmuring endlessly.
"An...gel... wait, an, angel..."
A soldier raised his musket to fire. Fair enough. He was a vile butcher, by all accounts.
As he struck the match...
Swish.
"Hold!"
His hand halted the rash soldier. Honored, the man doused the flame. He addressed him:
"Judgment isn't ours. His path ahead is his alone."
"..."
"...He can do nothing now, regardless. No need for worry."
"..."
Silence fell; all crossed themselves.
Meanwhile, Asuero receded. Off-path, staggering, chanting ceaselessly.
Till a speck in their sight.
Till vanished beyond the horizon.
For this era's Europeans, what terrified most?
My analysis: hell.
Precisely, dread of eternal flames—endless agony.
It maddens; it desperates.
Not devout? Still, barring executed atheists, God's existence was baseline belief.
Before such folk, I appeared as 'angel'.
Exposed his buried-deep 'sins'.
Expected Asuero Javier to submit... repent, at least...
Instead, absurd collapse.
Spouting drivel, slobbering—crawling, lurching—every spectacle till gone.
Will Asuero recover? Survive strange lands? Unknown.
But viewing me angel? No threat ever.
Problem solved.
Not slaying him directly: wise.
Outsider; crimes external. Lacking world-judgment might, we handle community internals only.
Had we admitted him... proper trial, fitting sentence.
But no. Not yet ours. Beyond our law.
Ignore procedure, slay in rage?
Community revolt? Instant war for 'all injustice'?
...Not time.
Not yet.
So, extralegally: my best.
Dialogue offered; refused—authority invoked. He departed self-willed.
Side-effect... surer than foreseen.
...No. Personal motive too.
Didn't crave God's name to 'condemn'. Nor direct 'judge'.
Unlike war-kill, defense-kill.
Yes.
Utterly distinct.
Thus... perhaps I hope recovery.
Repentance. Or Spanish justice.
Anyway.
Not vanished killer now.
What matters...
"...Spanish colony status. Worse than feared, from reports.
Florida especially."
"..."
"..."
"..."
Soon, 'scoundrels'' schemes exposed colony-wide; Malco, Asuero Javier's freed-slave accomplice, vanished too.
Crime-shock lingers.
England's propaganda—Spanish brutality—all prophecy fulfilled. Targets shifted: Indians to black slaves.
Bacon heard recording, barricaded for homeland report. Visiting Drake grew grave.
Because Florida's state...
"Our existence caused it."
Raleigh sneered.
"Fear us—hasty expansion. Can't corral worst rabble.
Slaves 80-90% populace; few Spaniards hoard brute force. Oversight? Authority's shortfall."
Brute force in unknowns: ragtag, unchecked.
"Ends only if we—or they—vanish."
Raleigh's right. Binary.
Florida crushes us.
Or we crush Florida.
Meal with Raleigh done, I pondered exiting.
'Now... alter plans.'
End passivity: single escapes, liberations.
Started conscience-driven, minor aids—couldn't watch idly. Now? Imperative.
Bolster us; sap them.
Till Spanish Florida utterly crushed.
Yes.
We must shatter Florida outright.