Chapter 39: Frederico – The Mouth Gnaws
Frederico could feel the red veins in his eyes itching. He couldn’t sleep, not since the Old Woman was gone and the Eliana was finished. There was no future, only the nightmare. He focused on Faust and closed his eyes. If only he could sleep a little bit. He heard someone calling him from outside the mansion. It was that soldier who had given him his name unbidden. Leon.
‘The Mouth of War is acting strange,’ the soldier said.
Had it ever been normal? Frederico invited Leon in with a gesture and they went up the tower together.
‘I thought you were with my brother,’ Frederico said.
‘He didn’t call my name.’
‘You should feel grateful.’
‘I was left behind.’
‘Would you rather die a useless death?’
‘At least I would be doing something.’
‘Such an obsession.’
From the top of the tower Frederico saw the Mouth moving. The grey ground, four centuries of death piled on it, whirled like it was liquid.
‘By the three wolves of Sátiron,’ he whispered. Then he ran down the stairs and out of the mansion to the city wall.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Leon.
‘I don’t know. Maybe a hurricane. You,’ he pointed to the soldiers at the door, ‘take ten soldiers with you and spread the word to take shelter. When you’re done, you take shelter too.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ said Leon.
‘What an obsession!’
‘What reason is there to exist if not to fight?’ asked Leon
‘Fighting is not a purpose,’ Frederico cried over his shoulder. He climbed the stairs to the wall two steps at a time. ‘War is not a purpose.’
The soldiers on the wall were motionless. Frederico was about to shout for them to take shelter then he saw what they were looking at and he froze on top of the wall. His instincts cried ‘Run!’ but there is something wonderfully hypnotic in utter destruction, a crimson beauty to death that makes a man feel like nothing and that renders escape useless.
The whirling grey death pulled a red meteor to the valley. The impact generated so much ash that it covered the horizon with dust. For seven days and seven nights the ground shook. There was constant, swaying fire and roars like thunder.
On the night of the seventh day, there was silence. The sky was clear, the ground was quiet. The cloud of ash had settled and covered the streets of Beloú. Dawn was yet to come, but the east was burning. When pale morning crawled across the Mouth of War, Frederico couldn’t see Fabec. There was a black hole where the Baynardian city used to be.
‘I want search groups,’ said Frederico. ‘If there are any survivors, bring them to the hospital.’
‘But they’re Baynardians,’ said Leon.
‘They’re Franish.’
A feather came down from the sky, whiter than snow, and landed between Frederico and Leon.
‘Where did that come from?’ asked Leon, shaking.
‘You know where that came from,’ said Frederico. ‘You saw the dragon.’